


Advent Calendar 2016

by lamentomori



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Children, Christmas Shopping, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hangover, KFC, Karaoke, M/M, Office Party, Post-Apocalypse, Separation Anxiety, Smut, Ye Olde Times, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 58,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A collection of fics inspired by Christmas Carols. Various pairings and warnings - Full track listing in Chapter 26, complete with all warnings. -Complete, no further requests being taken.





	1. The First Noel

**Author's Note:**

> Wade and Sheamus celebrate their first Christmas, together,whilst there's some new arrivals at the Manor. Warnings: Slash (Sharrett), Fluff, Ye Olde times.

The McMahon Manor is large. Not huge by the standards of the royal buildings, but for new money, it’s more than respectable. The Family made their money as merchants, buying and selling items from all over the world. Sugar, spices, and if the rumours are to be believed, people. Wade’s never really put too much thought into how the Family got their money. He doesn’t much care so long as he’s paid his wages at the end of the week. He’d started his employment by the Family as a young boy, as an assistant to his father. Over the years he’s worked his way up to head of the hunt. It’s a fine title. One he’s earned through many years of hard work, and loyal service. He’s been here long enough to have seen almost everything, good and bad, and all the others in between.  
Christmas is always a grand affair. The Family insist on having large feasts serving as much as they can to their decadent guests. It’s a busy time for all of the staff. From the farms to the kitchens to Wade’s small team of hunters. Everyone is working hard to provide for their employers, and the promise of their own small feast.  
Currently, Wade is dropping off a brace of pheasants to the kitchens. A single brace isn’t going to be anywhere near enough, but he has an ulterior motive for being where he is.  
“And I imagine that you’ll be wanting more of these?” Wade rests his hip against the low wall near the servant’s entrance. The young scullery maid opposite him barks a laugh.  
“Aye! You know how the Family eats at this time of year.” The scullery maid, Becky, laughs again. A gleeful grin spreading over her lips. “They’re like a sinkhole when it comes to food. I don’t know how the ladies stay so thin when all they do is wander around the ballroom all winter.”  
“I’m sure the never-ending parade of handsome young things is how Lady Stephanie stays so trim.” Wade’s ulterior motive appears from nowhere, and slaps Wade on the shoulder.  
“I could say the same thing of Master Shane.” Becky laughs once more, and slings the brace of pheasants Wade had handed her over her shoulder. “I’ll need another dozen at least, if you can my good man.”  
“Oi! That’s my good man” Sheamus snaps at his little sister, at least until Wade cuffs him around the ear. You can never be too sure who’s listening in the manor. Sheamus is not a man who knows shame. He’s as subtle about his relationship with Wade as a tom cat. But Wade should be more careful. His position means he must deal with the Family more than most, and that means his position is more precarious.  
“Honestly, Shea. Keep your voice down.” Becky’s eyes dart around, then return to her brother. “I heard that Master Hunter invited some parson from the new world to the feast this year. He’s supposed to be one of those hellfire preachers, so you’ll get an earful if he’s around.” Sheamus snorts dismissively, and ruffles his sister’s hair.  
“If I was afraid of hell fires I would have stayed in Ireland, Becks.” Sheamus laughs. “When’s this parson supposed to be coming?”  
“Today. I’ve not heard any more than that. Lexi’s been too busy to pop down to-“  
“Gossip.” Wade cuts in. “No matter how you were going to dress that up, you and Alexia will be gossiping.” Sheamus laughs as Becky pouts at Wade and her brother.  
“Off with you, you pair.” She huffs, and heads back into the bustling kitchens of the manor house.  
“I hope you kept one of those for us, love.” Sheamus’ hand briefly brushes over Wade’s arm. Thankfully Sheamus can be subtle on occasion. It always throws Wade slightly that he and his lover have to be so standoffish with each other in public, but those are the rules of society. Men lust for women, not other men. Which means men like he and Sheamus have to keep their relationship quiet. Of course, if either of them had money, things would be different. Master Shane’s proclivities raise eyebrows, but his father’s money means that it’s only eyebrows and not lynch mobs that are raised.  
The comings and goings of the big house aren’t something Wade overly concerns himself with though. His work keeps him out in the grounds, hunting, tracking, laying traps. He enjoys the peace of the moors, and the thrill of lying in wait for a doe to come by that he may lodge an arrow in her. Nothing but him and his preferred hound out amongst nature. The pheasants are thankfully plentiful enough, and by the end of the day, he has another full brace to bring the kitchen. This time it’s not Becky to takes the birds from him, but some other lass he doesn’t recognise. She blushes fiercely at him as her dainty fingers brush his in taking the brace. He offers her a slight smile that sends her swooning back into the kitchens with a soft giggle.  
“You’ll make your man jealous.” The thick accent of the visiting Russian countess’s footman has Wade turning to him with a smirk. Rusev returns it with abundant amusement. “If he hears of you flirting with pretty kitchen wenches, you’ll be sleeping with your hounds for a week.” Rusev laughs, and slaps Wade on the shoulder.  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wade chuckles, and lightly punches Rusev’s shoulder. “You’re out in the cold for what reason?”  
“My lady wanted to take a walk. I’m waiting for her and the entourage that’ll be following her.” Rusev sounds petulantly annoyed. His gaze casting about the servants’ gardens.  
“They’ll not be coming this way though.” Wade smiles at the sullen Rusev. “The folks from the house don’t even know this place exists, I’m sure.” Rusev barks a laugh.  
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The latest talk in the house is of how the newly arrived pastor wishes for everyone to be closer to god by doing lowly works, as he put it.” Rusev laughs again, and pulls from inside his coats a small flask. “You want some? It’s very good.” He takes a swig, and offers the flask towards Wade.  
“This Russian stuff?” Wade takes the flask, and has a sniff. The liquid inside smells nothing like any alcohol he’s ever smelt before. Strangely floral, but not in the way that gin is, something utterly foreign.  
“Hmm. Vodka. Good for the cold.” Rusev nods. Wade takes a swig, treating it like any other alcohol, and almost instantly regrets it. The liquid has no real taste, but it burns a path all the way down his throat. He holds the flask out to Rusev, and buries his face against his wrist trying to stifle his coughs. “You’re first time?” Rusev laughs, and presses the flask back to Wade. “Keep it. I have plenty more. Vodka is good at warming the heart. It’s like drinking the flames of passion.” Rusev laughs once more.  
“Flames is a good way to describe it.” Wade mutters slipping the flask into his inner pocket. “What was that about this pastor?”  
“Ah! The good pastor from the new world… Styles I think the name is. He seems like a brash fool.” Rusev pulls another flask from his coat, and takes a long drink. “He commandeered the captain that took him across the sea, told him that he’d get paid only once he made it to where he was supposed to be.” Rusev takes another drink, then slips the flask back into his coat.  
“Commandeered?” Wade raises his eyebrow at that. “What sort of captain gets bullied by his passengers?”  
“One that’s entirely too nice.” The voice that comes from behind Wade is unfamiliar in so many ways. The accent, the jovial tone, the everything. “Colt.” The man extends his hand, shakes Wade’s briefly, then stuffs it back into his pocket. “This country is the worst.” It’s hard to be offended by a statement that’s given in such a friendly tone, but Wade does bristle slightly at the comment. “It’s pretty, but this is the most miserable weather ever.”  
“You’re the one who took this Parson Styles here, then?” Wade asks the man, watching him stamp his feet, and almost shiver in the cold.  
“I am, and I apologise for it.” He laughs. “I’ve never had to deal with a more asinine passenger in all my days as a captain.” Rusev laughs at that, and Colt grins at him. “I’ve been sailing since before I was born, and yet Pastor Styles made sure we had good winds, not by my skill, oh no! But by his god. You’d get more sense from a cow’s ass than his mouth.”  
“You’re captain of a passenger ship then?” Wade means the question innocently, but the colouring of Colt’s cheeks suddenly has him doubting the above-board nature of this captain.  
“I’m more of a merchant, shall we say.” Colt smiles cheerfully, and adjusts the way one of his many scarves are lying. “I’m not used to this weather.”  
“No, I can see that.” Wade chuckles, and pulls Rusev’s flask from his coat. “Here, have some Russian firewater. It’ll warm you up.”  
“No. I don’t drink.” Colt smiles brightly once more, and tugs another scarf into a better position.  
“A pirate that doesn’t drink?” Rusev laughs, and Colt turns crimson.  
“I’m not a pirate. I am a legitimate merchant, who sells legitimate things to legitimate people.” Colt’s eyes dart around, and Wade chuckles at him.  
“See, he’s not a pirate, Rusev. He’s a smuggler.” Wade laughs, and Colt rolls his eyes.  
“It depends on what you classify as smuggling, to be honest.” Colt looks around the gardens carefully, as though hunting for someone or something. “I ship freed slaves to safer places.” Rusev pales slightly, and gently touches Colt’s shoulder. His hand vanishes into his pocket, and he pulls out a handkerchief. He opens it, and offers it to Colt. Inside the dainty fabric bundle is candied ginger. Colt takes a couple of pieces, and puts one in his pocket the other in his mouth. “For my boy.”  
“You’ve lost your son?” Wade decides that changing the subject is probably for the best. Slaves, and their freedom is a touchy subject, especially so close to the big house, so it’s better to move on to less awkward topics.  
“Not exactly on both counts. He’s neither lost, nor really my son.” Colt shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips.  
“Oi! Da!” A loud cry comes over the courtyard, and Wade spots Sheamus being followed by a short young man, who seems to be talking far quicker than Sheamus can listen.  
“This is yours, Captain.” Sheamus gently nudges the young man forward. He looks maybe all of fourteen, with big brown eyes, and a huge grin. He might not be Colt’s son but he could certainly pass for it. The boy starts on about the animals Sheamus oversees. A long rambling rant about pigs ensues for some reason. Colt awkwardly smiles to the others, and ushers the boy off. Wade looks over at Sheamus with a raised eyebrow, and the big Irish man laughs awkwardly, and rubs the back of his neck. “I found him talking to the barn lad. The two of them were caught up in some nonsense about pirates or some such. I don’t need TJ distracted from his work more than usual so I took him to find his pa.”  
“Well done.” Wade pats Sheamus on the arm, and pulls the flask from his pocket. “Here try this.” Sheamus takes a gulp of the vodka, and unlike Wade suffers no horrible coughing fit.  
“I’ve already let him try the vodka.” Rusev chuckles, and sighs. “I should go to the front. The pastor may want them playing in the mud, but my lady is not one for being so messy.” Rusev leaves them with a slight bow of his head.  
“You finished for the day, love?” Sheamus steps half an inch closer to Wade, a small distance that makes all the difference. This close Wade is better able to sense the presence of his lover.  
“I am. I’m going to head home, then pluck our Christmas dinner. I’ll get tonight’s on too.” Wade offers Sheamus a broad grin.  
Sheamus returns to their little home with more gossip from the big house. It seems that the pastor’s brought far more people with him than the Family had been expecting. Instead of it being just him, he’s brought two other clergymen (possibly monks as they call each other brother), the captain and his boy, and the pastor’s assistant. The other snippet of gossip Sheamus brought home was that the assistant had caught the eye of Master Shane. Apparently Master Shane had been spotted cornering the young man in the library, talking to him in the manner that is always the sign that Shane is moving in on a conquest. With the fresh gossip from the house exhausted over dinner, as they straighten the house, and prepared for bed, the topic of conversation was normal everyday gripes, and tomorrow. It’s the first Christmas they’ve spent together as a couple, and whilst Wade doesn’t want to make a fuss, it feels special. He’s been saving a fair portion of his wage for weeks to buy Sheamus a present. Not because he wants one in return, but because he wants to be able to give his lover something special, something to remind him of Wade’s love for him.  
Christmas morning starts with a service in the Family’s chapel. Pastor Styles gives the sermon, and for all it’s being overly long, it’s not a bad little sermon. He’s not the firebrand Wade had been told he is. If anything, he seems mild, and quite calm. That’s probably attributable to someone from the big house though. If Wade knows anything about the Family and the staff at the big house, it’s that they can suck the fire from anyone.  
“I’m gonna have to check the traps, but if you want to start with dinner.” Wade’s walking a little too close to Sheamus as they file out of the chapel, but thankfully no one seems to notice or care. Sheamus briefly brushes his fingers against Wade’s, and offers him a sly smile.  
“Do me a favour?” Sheamus brushes Wade’s fingers again, his sly smile broadening. “Check in on my stock, and I’ll do dinner.”  
“Deal.” Wade turns away from him, and heads to where his preferred hound is housed. He’s got traps to check, and now livestock to give some hay to.  
The first stop Wade makes is to the barn. The herd of cows are all in there hiding from the cold. In theory, Sheamus’ help, TJ, should have taken care of them, but as soon as Wade’s close enough he can see the young man chasing after someone. Based on the number of scarves the other young man’s wearing, Wade supposes that TJ is playing with Colt’s son.  
“Wade! Catch him!” TJ calls as the captain’s son bolts towards Wade. Habit has him catching the young man by the scruff of his neck. The captain’s boy scowls at him for a moment, then squirms free before a cackling TJ can throw the snowball in his hand at him.  
“Mister, you might wanna move.” The captain’s boy laughs as he stoops to make a snowball of his own. It seems that Wade has walked into a warzone. He scuttles away from the boys, and ducks into the barn. Most of the water troughs are full, although the hay mangers are a little empty. He can hear the two boys still playing outside, and strangely when mixed with the sounds of the cows it brings back vague memories of when he’d be helping his grandfather on his farm as a child. His sisters would be out playing, and as the oldest, Wade would be working. TJ’s only sixteen, and by the look of him the captain’s son is even younger, so he can’t resent them getting to be children a little longer.  
His traps are thankfully once more full. He’s relieved that all the game left out and about is as apparently sick of the cold as he is. He can think of no other reason for them all to be so happy to come to their death at his hands. On his way back down to the manor house, Wade stops in at the pigs and chickens. Thankfully both seem to have been fed, so he drops his game off at the kitchens, and makes his way back home.  
There’s already a fire in the hearth when Wade makes it inside. Sheamus is turned towards the fire, turning the spit with the pheasant Wade had kept back for them. The scent of roasting meat filling the little hut, and there’s even some simple Christmas decorations here and there. It seems as though Sheamus has gone all out on making their first Christmas a nice as possible.  
“You better not be tracking snow all over the place.” Sheamus calls out. Wade doesn’t bother fighting the fond smile that spreads over his lips. He’s always a little charmed by Sheamus’ being so very house proud. Their little home may be small, and it may not be much, but it’s well cared for, and well loved.  
“I banged my boots before I even thought to come in.” Wade starts to remove his outer layers, thankful that the thick woollen garments aren’t too wet. They should dry off easily by the fire. “How’s the bird?”  
“She’s coming along nicely. Did you get the last of the stuff for the big house?” Sheamus turns to look at him. There’s a smile on Sheamus’ face, a smile Wade is certain is only shown to him. He nods, and comes closer to the fire, his damp coat draped over his arm.  
“You want me to take over?” Sheamus nods, and frees up the spot on the stool by the spit. He takes Wade’s coat for him, and drapes it over the drying rack.  
“I’ve got some soup on the go too... I think Becky might be popping in tomorrow so mind and leave enough for her.” Wade nods along to Sheamus’ words, half paying attention to them, half listening to his lover talk. “Did you get a chance to look in at barns? I’m sure the boy down there’ll be slacking. He’s always lazy in the cold.”  
“He’s from warmer climes, you can’t blame the boy.” Wade mutters, his gaze caught by the flames.  
“I know, but still this is at least his second winter. You’d think he’d adjust to it by now.” Sheamus gripes, and drapes himself over Wade’s back. “I’m being a grouchy old man, aren’t I, love?” Wade nods again, a smile spreading over his face when Sheamus presses a kiss to his temple.  
“A mite, love, a mite.” Wade decides he’ll not mention the fact that young TJ had been shirking his duties in favour of playing in the snow with Captain Colt’s son. It seemed harmless, and Wade had no trouble making sure the cattle had plenty of hay and water.  
“I suppose… That should be cooked by now. Everything else is nearly ready.” Sheamus gestures towards the bird, and then towards the board on the table. Wade slides the bird from the spit onto the board to let it rest. Sheamus finishes up the rest of the food, and Wade’s carves the bird.  
“You want to say grace?” Wade asks once the last dish has been set on the table. Sheamus rolls his eyes, and sits down opposite Wade.  
“Grace. That good enough for you?” Sheamus laughs. Wade chuckles softly, and serves some of the pheasant over to Sheamus.  
“Better than I was expecting to be honest.” Wade starts eating. Sheamus smiles at him fondly. A light chatter starts up between them, nothing of importance being discussed, just a soft burble of noise between the two of them. Once the main meal is cleared away, Sheamus sets a pudding on the table. He pours some alcohol over the top, and sets it aflame.  
“It’s a wee one I got Becky to make just for us.” He smiles fondly at Wade, and fetches two more plates and a knife.  
“You get some custard for this pud?” Wade chuckles as Sheamus serves him half the pudding. Once Sheamus has set his own half down, he heads back over to the fire.  
“Here.” He sets a gravy boat of custard down on the table with a flourish and a grin. “Merry Christmas love.” Sheamus reaches over the table to catch one of Wade’s hands. “I… I’m not good at this.” He trails off, and starts eating his pudding.  
“Before I eat this, I’m gonna go get your present.” Wade pushes away from the table, and stands on the chair to fetch Sheamus’ present from the rafters.  
“It’ll smell of smoke up there.” Sheamus laughs, watching Wade perching on the chair. He tosses Sheamus his gift. The Irish man looks at it thoughtfully. “Oily rags? Just what I wanted.” Sheamus laughs, and unwinds the rags from around what is his gift.  
“You’re always complaining that you don’t know the time. That one’s set by Greenwich. I checked to make sure.” Wade smiles softly as Sheamus twists the pocket watch around. “If you don’t like it, or if it’s not practical enough I’m sure that-“  
“Shh.” Sheamus waves his hand at Wade, still seemingly engrossed by the watch. He pops the cover, and suddenly looks up at Wade. A very soft smile graces his face, and Wade feels his heart speed up a little. “That’s the day we met, isn’t it?” Sheamus is referring to the date that’s engraved on the inside of the watch’s lid. Wade nods, and covers his pudding in custard.  
“It is. I thought it’d be a nice touch, but like I was saying if it’s too fancy I’ve kept the receipt so we can change it for a sturdier one, though I did-“  
“You’re not getting rid of my watch. It’s perfect.” Sheamus is already attaching the timepiece of his waistcoat. “It’s beautifully practical, just like you, love.” Wade’s suddenly very glad that there’s not better lighting in their home. At least with only the fire and candles, he can blame them for the ruddy hue he’s certain is gracing his cheeks. “Now eat your pudding.” Wade takes a big spoonful of pudding almost on Sheamus’ command. It’s been a long time since he’s had custard, and a year since his last Christmas pudding. He starts to chew, and bites down on something far too solid to be part of the pudding.  
“Did Becky put a sixpence in here and not tell you?” Fishing what he supposes is a sixpence out of his mouth isn’t elegant, but it is necessary, and Sheamus has seen him in far less elegant positions on several occasions.  
“That’s no sixpence, love.” Sheamus smiles slightly, and offers Wade a cup of water. “Here, rinse it off.” Wade drops the piece of pudding coated metal into the water. The water clears the pudding from it quickly. “Here, lemme give it to you properly, love.” In Sheamus’ hand is a simple plain gold band. A wedding ring. A ring that’s slightly too small for Wade’s fingers. “I got it small on purpose before you say anything. There’s no way we can actually be married, but I thought it’d be a nice gesture.” Wade smile fondly, and pulls his own pocket watch out.  
“There is a ship’s captain around. I’m sure he’d marry us, love.” Wade laughs fondly, and Sheamus leans over the table to snag the back of Wade’s neck, drawing him into a kiss. “It’s a lovely gesture, and I’m hoping after the last service, I get a more physical gift.” Sheamus answers with nothing more than a filthy smile, and another kiss.


	2. Wonderful Christmas Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn's been working as an ESL teacher for a few months, and learns about a Japanese Christmas tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings - Slash (Shinsuke Nakamura/Finn Bálor) (Sheamus/CM Punk), fluff, KFC.

A few months ago, Finn had come to Japan. He’d never really thought of teaching abroad, but a failed relationship, and his friend working there anyway, had lead him to Japan. The little city he works in isn’t overly exciting. Bustling, and crowded, but still somehow rural. The signs are all in Japanese, of which he can read four words (chicken, beer, toilet, and exit). The people around him all speak Japanese, of which he knows five phrases (hello, how are you, I’m fine and you, thank you, and fuck). And despite this, Finn loves it here.  

He’d come with his friend Sheamus, who thought a change of scenery would do Finn the power of good. Sheamus has been here for two years now, and seems to enjoy it far more than Finn thought he would. Sheamus is an Irish lad through and through. When he’d first taken off to Japan, Finn had been surprised. Pleased for his friend, but surprised that he’d leave the homeland he seemed to love so much. But, Sheamus seems to love Japan and teaching a lot more than Finn had expected him to. Although that might be related to the other foreign teacher employed by the kindergarten. Despite Punk being one of the gruffest, ill-tempered people Finn’s ever met, he loves kids, and Sheamus seems to have confused that with Punk hiding a secretly sweet nature. Finn’s entirely sure he’s barking up the wrong tree when it comes to Punk, but he’s not going to interfere. If only because it seems like Sheamus is making some progress with Punk, or at least getting laid.

The kindergarten is decked out in a myriad of sparkling decorations when Finn arrives. He can hear Punk’s class of little ones giggling, and badly singing Frosty the Snowman. Punk’s clearly taking the Christmas show for the parents far more seriously than Finn is. He’s had his kids practice maybe once. He’s no idea if Sheamus has been taking it seriously or not, but Finn suspects that he might be, if only to use it as an opportunity to impress Punk.

“Morning, Finn.” Finn’s co-teacher greets him as he enters the teachers’ office. Finn’s youngest class’s English is too low for them understand all the instructions that he needs to give them, so Shinsuke is in charge of translating, and helping run the class. Unintentionally, Finn tends to help in reverse for Shinsuke’s classes, although not with the translation. His Japanese really is too bad to be of much use. Shinsuke is ridiculous. Finn has many other words and phrases to describe the man, but ridiculous fits him the best. Everything from his gleeful smirk, to his half-shaved head, to his habit of randomly dancing around for the children’s’ amusement is ridiculous. He’s great, but he is also ridiculous.

“Heya.” Finn unwinds his scarf from around his neck, and slips his winter boots off, replacing them with requisite inside _shoes_. “You all set for class?”

“The…uh…copy machine is broken, so I’m going to run over to the print shop across the street. Class will start fifteen minutes late because of clothes for the show in three days.” Shinsuke smiles at him absently, and starts pulling on his outer layers. “I mean costumes, not clothes… We need to practice singing, otherwise Brooks will have the best performance again, and I will not lose to him for three years in a row.”

“Alright. We’ll go over last lesson, introduce the next set of words, a quick game, and then singing practice.” Finn claps Shinsuke on the shoulder, and wanders over to his desk to start mentally prepping for their lesson.

“You’ll got home for Christmas?” Shinsuke asks absently, still buttoning his overly complicated coat. Finn barks a laugh, and shakes his head. He spares a glance at the other Japanese teachers in the room, and offers the few who look at him a smile and a nod.

“It’s too expensive. I’ll probably just stay home, and build the Lego kit I got when I was Tokyo last weekend.” Finn meets Shinsuke’s gaze, and smiles brightly at him. “You gonna do anything interesting?”

“Ah…who can say.” Shinsuke rubs his chin thoughtfully, and pulls his facemask in place. He leaves the office with a smirk. Just as he’s leaving, Sheamus comes in, and gives Shinsuke a vague greeting in bad, but improving Japanese. It sounds strange to Finn to hear Japanese with an Irish accent, almost as strange as it sounds coming in Punk’s bland American Midwestern accent. Finn still has a hard time tell different Japanese accents apart, but he can definitely hear how odd it sounds coming from a foreigner.

“So, you any plans for the weekend?” Finn asks Sheamus once he’s pulled off his coat, and changed into his work shoes. Sheamus looks over at him, and shrugs.

“Probably gonna see if Punk wants to come see the new Harry Potter movie.” Sheamus flops into his seat, and boots up his computer.

“I can’t see him wanting to watch Harry Potter, Shea.” Finn shrugs, and decides it’s best to not comment on the odd relationship between Sheamus and Punk.

“He likes that kind of silly nonsense.” Sheamus looks up at him with a grin, and Finn shakes his head vaguely.

“If you say so, you’re the one who’s _something_ with him.” Finn chuckles, and checks through his emails. Nothing overly interesting, some recruiter trying to tempt him to a bigger city, some worried parent that’s sent a ten-page tome entirely in pretty squiggles Finn can’t read, and what he assumes are porn adverts based on the scantily clad ladies, but really could be selling home insurance for all he knows.

“Something is one way to put it.” Sheamus mutters, and the sound of him typing fills the office. Finn glowers at his emails until Shinsuke returns with a sheaf of papers, and his trademark grin to head to class.

Teaching their children to sing the song the school had chosen goes about as well as Finn had expected. The youngest little girl in the class hadn’t liked it so had clung to Finn’s hand the whole time, and the oldest boy had gotten bored and done nothing but try to emulate Shinsuke. With the few days left, Finn’s sure he’ll get his little munchkins up to par, but for now it’s hard going for all of them.

He goes to the cheap ramen place near his home for dinner, Sheamus accompanying him, and mostly monologuing about what he’s going to get Punk for Christmas. As much as Finn’s decided to not get involved in their _something_ , he does talk Sheamus down from buying Punk another dog. One is more than enough, and based on the size of Punk’s home, even his tiny mutt is probably too much. This does mean that Sheamus spends the rest of dinner pondering aloud about what Punk might want. Finn can’t offer any advice there. He doesn’t know Punk all that well. After dinner they part ways, and Finn heads back to his shoebox of an apartment where he takes up residence on the couch with a Netflix boxset, and a pot of tea.

The knock on his door gets Finn up off the couch, and stumbling over to it wearily. He knows he’s got no reason to be so tired, but he feels exhausted after a day of teaching, and a dinner with Sheamus musing about Punk. He peeps through the hole, and is treated to a whole lot of red. The only person he knows who wears that much red is Shinsuke. He’d not been expecting him, Shinsuke usually texts before he shows up, but Finn’s not objecting to a home visit.

“Hello.” Finn opens the door, and a large box is thrust at him. “What’s this?”

“Let me come in, and I’ll help.” Shinsuke grins at him. A mischievous little grin that’s entirely too hard to say no to, so Finn steps aside, and tosses a pair of slippers from his shoe rack to Shinsuke. “The school administration told me that as Christmas was on the weekend, and you foreigners like Christmas, that instead of a holiday this year you receive this.” He gestures to the box he’d thrust into Finn’s arms. “Wait! One more thing, although this is not from the school.” He pulls out from his pocket two velveteen Santa hats, and plops one on Finn’s head, the other he arranges more carefully on his own head. “Now you can open the box.” Shinsuke toes off his outside shoes and coat, hanging the coat on the rack, and slipping his feet into the slippers Finn tossed down.

“It’s Christmas decorations.” Finn’s opened one flap of the box, the sparkling of tinsel is unmistakeable. Shinsuke nods, and comes a little closer. “You’re here to help me put up Christmas decorations?” Finn had hoped it was a different reason, and can’t hide the slight disappointment in his tone.

“Yes.” Shinsuke sounds incredibly formal about the whole matter, leaving Finn to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the solemn look on Shinsuke’s face. “You do the tree. Everything else, leave to me.” Shinsuke commandeers the tinsel, and starts winding it around random places. The vibrant gold strand gets laced around Finn’s water machine. The red strand is pinned above and around the bathroom door. The blue strand is draped over the window. The silver strand, Shinsuke seems unwilling to put anywhere other than around his neck, seemingly very content to wear it as a scarf.

“If you’re finished making everything sparkly, come help with the tree.” Finn waves Shinsuke over to him, and nudges the box of gaudy baubles towards him. Shinsuke sighs in a put-on manner, and abandons his tinselled prancing to come and help polish off the tree.

“This is too far from the socket.” Shinsuke says once the tree’s finished, and Finn curses quietly. “Hold the top, and I’ll move the bottom… Where’s the nearest socket?”

“Over there.” Finn gestures to the other side of the room, and eyes the tree dubiously. “I don’t think we can get it over there, Shinsuke.”

“We can! I believe we can! C’mon!” He turns to Finn with his typically mischievous smile, and starts carefully scooting the tree over the tiled floor. They get maybe two feet over the floor before the first decoration skitters to the ground.

“Wait! We’ve lost a snowman!” Finn calls, but Shinsuke merely laughs at him.

“We’ll come back for him. No snowman will be left behind, but we’ve got to get this tree home.” Another decoration bounces to the floor, and Shinsuke laughs again. “We’ll collect all the fallen soldiers, don’t worry.” Finn rolls his eyes, and makes a quick cross sign.

“We’ll come back for you, snowman, and you too red bauble.” With no more casualties, they get the tree in place. Finn plugs the lights in, and heads back to collect the fallen ornaments. He hands Shinsuke the snowman, and puts the red bauble back himself. Shinsuke spends entirely too long fussing over where to place the snowman, so long that Finn’s managed to fill and put the kettle on to boil, and take a seat on the couch.

“There. A perfect tree. Very impressive, Finn.” Shinsuke sits down beside him. For a full second, he’s completely still, then the tinsel scarf is unwound from his throat, and tossed around Finn, so that they’re sharing it.

“So… You know, in Japan we have a tradition for Christmas.” Shinsuke turns to smile at Finn. Not his normal mischievous smile, but something far softer.

“Oh?” Finn turns from him back to the flashing lights on the Christmas tree. It seems like a far safer place to turn his attention in that moment. He’s not entirely certain he’s reading Shinsuke right in this moment, but there’s not really any way to interpret this as other than a come-on. Whilst he’s usually not against come-ons and all that follows them, he’s pretty content just sitting watching his tree with Shinsuke’s arm around his shoulders just then.

“Ah.” Shinsuke nods wisely, and then his mischievous grin returns. “I will come to your home on Christmas and share it with you. My order has already been placed so there is no need to worry about us missing out.” Finn nods vaguely, and scoots a little closer to Shinsuke. His hand creeps up, and follows the path of the tinsel around Shinsuke’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer.

“What is this order for?” Finn doesn’t bother hiding the silly smile that spreads over his lips as Shinsuke wraps his arm around Finn’s shoulders.

“KFC.” Shinsuke intones it solemnly. Finn lets that hang in the air for a second, and then bursts out laughing. “What! It’s tradition. At Christmas, we eat KFC.”

“If you say so.” Finn mutters, and turns to Shinsuke. “You gonna stay the night?” Shinsuke looks at him thoughtfully, then glances down at his watch.

“My class starts at eight.” He leans forward, and draws Finn into a kiss. “I’ll stay Christmas though.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” Finn laughs, and watches his ridiculous lover leave.

Christmas morning comes after a chaotic last few days at the kindergarten. Punk’s class were definitely the best, which led to some ridiculous antics from Shinsuke, and Sheamus being torn between pride for Punk and commiseration for his students.

On Christmas Eve, they’d gone out to karaoke, Sheamus had gotten spectacularly drunk, and serenaded Punk with an off-key rendition of Winter Wonderland. Punk had dragged Sheamus off shortly after that, if it was for what Sheamus was hoping for, or Punk dropping Sheamus off in a capsule motel it’s difficult to say. Shinsuke had headed home shortly after that, leaving Finn with a wink that promised tonight will be fun. It’s hard dating a co-worker. Neither Finn, nor Shinsuke are sure on the policy, at least as it pertains to Native and Foreign teachers. It’d probably be fine, but they’re both not quite confident enough to come out as _dating_. It’s probably a lot more complicated than it needs to be, but things work fine, so there’s no need to change them.

Shinsuke shows up at around three with his KFC order. The bucket of chicken is vast, and Shinsuke looks delighted with it. Not only is there chicken, there’s a myriad of sides, and enough fizzy pop to drown a small child. It might not be the feast Finn would have had at home, but it is a feast none the less.

“You have a foreign Christmas movie to watch?” Shinsuke asks around a mouthful of fried chicken. Finn nods, and fishes the remote from under the cushion where it always seems to hide. He’d downloaded something silly and festive the other day, and stuck it on the USB drive that lives in his TV. Finn scoots off the couch to settles beside Shinsuke on the floor.

“This wasn’t how I pictured my first Christmas in Japan, you know.” Finn grabs a piece of chicken, and takes a bite.

“Oh? How did you picture it? A three-way with Sheamus and Punk? I’d watch… Maybe a foursome.” Shinsuke waggles his eyebrows, and Finn swats at him. “No? Maybe I’ll have this three-way instead.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Finn threatens him with his piece of chicken.

“How do you know I’ve not?” Shinsuke’s wicked little grin spreads over his lips, and he steals a bite of Finn’s chicken. “You weren’t here last year. I could have done all manner of things you don’t know.”

“Sheamus has a big mouth-“

“And a big dick, if Punk’s to be believed.” Shinsuke laughs at Finn’s undoubtedly scandalised expression.

“I don’t need to know that about my mate.” Finn mutters, and swipes Shinsuke’s pop. If there’s to be stealing of chicken, there will be stealing of other things too. “Anyway, I meant I’d not expected to spend Christmas eating KFC with my… _boyfriend_?” It’s not supposed to be question, but it is.

“Who else would you spend it with? You’ve already turned down a threesome. May as well spend it with your man.” Shinsuke offers Finn his piece of chicken, and another sly little grin.

“Very true.” Finn takes a bit of Shinsuke’s chicken. “I don’t have a present for you, but Merry Christmas.” Finn presses a slightly greasy kiss to Shinsuke’s lips, and resumes eating.

“Hmm, merry Christmas. For your Christmas present, I’ve a different type of meat for you to put your lips around, but chicken first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second up we have Wonderful Christmas Time, as requested by JellyBelly30.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	3. All I want for Christmas is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3rd - All I Want For Christmas Is You - Master Shane is home for Christmas, and as usual is bored of being trapped in the family manor. Thankfully, the newly arrived Pastor's assisstant is more than willing to help with Shane's boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (Shane McMahon/Dean Ambrose), Ye Olde Times, fluff, smut.

Christmas isn’t a time of year Shane’s ever really liked. It somehow becomes even noisier, and more awkward in the manor. His parents always go overboard. Every room in the house is decked out in festive cheer, mistletoe, holly, and ivy all over everything it can possibly be twined around. The kitchens send up ridiculous amounts of food, and vast bowls of mulled wine and wassail punch are everywhere. It’d be nice if it wasn’t for the huge amounts of people that are given invitations to share in the McMahon family’s excess. Despite his own _decadence,_ Shane’s always been uncomfortable with his parents’.

Already in the manor is some Russian Countess and her entourage, a wealthy merchant from the Colonies and his assistant, and to come is some preacher also from the Colonies. There’s always some random guest pastor recruited to the manor to lead the Christmas services in the chapel. Those are his least favourite arrivals. There’s little Shane likes less than men who claim to speak for God. It never fails to annoy him how mere mortal men can claim that they speak on behalf of the Almighty. If men could talk for God, he’s sure that they’d focus a lot less on the cruelties of God in the Old Testament, and more on the New Covenant and love of the Christ. He’s nothing more than a layman, but he’s one of the few who’s read the Holy Bible. He’s read the words of God, and he can’t help but think that if it really were written by God, it’d focus a lot less on listing who begat who, and more on how to be a good person. Perhaps that’s why he’s nothing more than a layman. If he were educated by the Church, maybe he’d understand better why there isn’t a clear list of instructions, and instead there’s verse after verse of what colour God wanted the curtains in the temple to be. Not that any of that matters. Shane’s father has groomed him to follow in his footsteps, and as his father is fond of saying, religion and business are like cats and dogs. Both are useful, but they can’t be mixed.

He wakes early on Christmas Eve to a commotion. The staff are frantically scurrying around. The manor somehow looks even more festive, the tree dragged into the entrance hall, and being decorated by the youngest of the staff members. Stephanie is barking orders to them, giving her opinion on where each little glass bauble should be placed. She looks at Shane as he makes his way down the stairs, and smiles at him.

“Morning. You’ve missed breakfast.” She turns her attention to the staff once more, and barks an order at a nervous looking girl, almost causing her to drop the bauble she’s holding, which leads to Stephanie shouting at her even more vigorously. In the morning parlour, his mother is busy stitching. What she’s making is mystery to Shane, and he doesn’t much care. He greets her softly, and brushes a kiss to her cheek. He gets a kind smile, and an order to go to the kitchens if he’s hungry. He’s not surprised by his father’s absence. Vince McMahon isn’t a man inclined to stop working. Shane’s entirely convinced that even on his death bed his father will be trying to run his company.

The kitchen’s a flurry of activity. The old head cook is leaning heavily against a wall, conducting her staff with precision despite her age and health.

“Morning, Master Shane.” She calls out to him, and gestures to one of the girls. “Becky, fetch Master Shane some breakfast.” The girl nods, her fiery hair gleams in the flickering lights of the dark kitchens. Shane can’t quite remember if he’s bedded her or not, but she looks like she’d be fun to get between the sheets.

“There’s no porridge left, but here’s something cold. I’ll make you up something hot to drink though, sir.” She sets a platter down in front of Shane.

“You’re Sheamus’ sister, aren’t you?” The accent, and the hair colour bring to mind the farmer manager of the estate.  Sheamus has been here years, and Shane vaguely recalls him mentioning that his little sister would be coming one night back in the spring when Shane had been out helping with the lambing. Something his father had scolded him for staunchly, but Shane had enjoyed the bawdy company of the farmhands.

“Aye.” The girl takes off, and is gone only a moment before she returns with a pot of tea. She might be pretty, but Shane’s always had more of an eye for her brother, so bedding her is very much out. His fondness for both genders is possibly another reason he’s never considers taking steps into the clergy. He takes a seat at the servants’ table, and starts eating, watching the kitchens hustle and bustle around him. He’s always had a fascination with the work that the servants do, it’s always struck him as more interesting than the bland signing of papers his father is dragging him into. There’s an honesty to working for your money. Business seems more like moving pieces around a chess board than actual work.

“Master Shane?” His mother’s chief maid calls down the stairs after Shane’s been hiding out in the kitchens for about thirty minutes. She calls again, and the head cook looks at him. She’s known him since he was a babe, and unlike most staff in the house she’s not afraid of upsetting the young master.

“Thank you for breakfast.” He stands, and goes over to mimic a kiss to her cheek. “It was lovely.” She nods once, and gestures up the stairs.

“Off you go. Lunch will be the same time as normal.” She turns back to her staff, leaving Shane to go to his mother’s maid.

“Master Shane, the Mistress sent me to fetch you. The pastor’s carriage is on its way, and she told me to ensure that you’re prepared.” The maid keeps babbling, but Shane’s mostly ignoring her. He’s as dressed as this pastor’s getting.

“Everyone here?” His mother’s standing in the reception hall, changed into something more elaborate than she’d been wearing, but nothing compared to the gown Stephanie’s put on. His father, and Stephanie’s husband are standing there too, their heads bent in discussion. Hunter looks over to Shane with a smile, and gets a slight nod from Shane. The man plays at being charming, but Shane knows that Hunter married Stephanie for her money, and intends to push Shane to the side as much as possible, so he can get his hands on more of it.

“Pastor Styles.” The head butler ushers in the pastor. A short man, with hair that’s too long to be loose, and too short to be bound back properly, dressed in simple, sturdy clothes. Behind him are two tall, intimidating bald-headed men, dressed in what could almost be cassocks. Behind them is a young man with a mass of curled reddish, blondish, brownish hair, a beautiful face, but a sullen air of put-upon misery.  

“It’s fine to be invited to celebrate Christmas with such a charming family.” Pastor Styles thrusts his hand out towards Shane’s father, then to Hunter. “I hope you don’t mind, but I felt it necessary to ensure my return home.” He gestures behind him.

“Hello.” A quiet voice comes from still outside. The butler steps out, and ushers the last members of Pastor Styles’ party in. “Uh… Captain Cabana. This is my son, Noam.” The boy in question doesn’t seem to care about being introduced. He seems more fascinated with the tree and the sparkling decorations on it.

“I promised him payment only when I was safely delivered home.” Pastor Styles smiles slightly, claps the captain on the shoulder. “I’m sure spending Christmas with these good Christian folks will bring you to Christ.” Once Styles has stepped away from him, Cabana rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.

“Well, I’ll have the servants prepare somewhere for you to sleep, Captain.” Shane’s mother smiles politely, and looks at her maid. “In the meantime, please feel free to get accustomed to the house.”

The Pastor and his two bald associates leave with Shane’s father and brother-in-law, while the young man is left to move the luggage with the help of some of the manor staff. Shane’s tempted to offer his services, but he thinks that it’d be taken in the wrong way, so instead he heads outside to take a walk in the snow. He has the feeling that lunch with the pastor will be worse than the usually façade of charm the family goes for, so he resolves to take too long on his walk and avoid having to deal with more awkward conversation than he’d like.

His walk takes him off the estate and into the village. The residents greeted with him the stilted politeness he’s used to. Their many Merry Christmases he returns with as much cheer as he can muster. It’s far easier to be in the spirit of the season when he’s not bound by the constraints of his station back in the manor. Shane’s never been one for enjoying his position. He’s always felt more than little uncomfortable with the bowing and scraping of the house staff. The estate staff and their earthier ways have always made him feel more at home than the pomp and circumstance of the manor.

He makes it back home long after lunch, and stops down at the kitchens to pick up something for a snack, getting a disdainful look from the head cook. He’d be more concerned if he didn’t know that the old woman liked him. She might look disapproving, but deep down she’s fond of him and his dislike for being stuck in the dining room.

Shane didn’t mean to hunt the pastor’s assistant down. It just so happened that he came across the young man, standing engrossed by some book in the library. He looks very different free from the cloud of the pastor’s presence. His eyes are tearing over the page with rapt attention, his mouth forming the words carefully.

“It’s a fine tale. Are you enjoying it so far?” Shane asks it softly, having sneaked a little too close to the younger man. He jumps at Shane’s words, clasping the book to his chest.

“You startled me.” He looks incredibly nervous, his eyes darting around the room like he’s hunting for an escape. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Books are to be read.” Shane plucks the book from the younger man’s fingers, and sets it down on the table. “Take a seat. There’s no need to be creeping about.” Shane sits on one chair, and gestures towards the other. “My name’s Shane.”

“I know.” The young man nervously looks around the library once more, and finally takes a seat. “I’m Dean… I don’t think the pastor would be too pleased with me talking to you.” He smiles. The sort of smile that leaves Shane with no doubts that his advances will be welcomed. The art of bedding men is very different to the art of bedding women. There’s a little more skill involved in getting a man into bed with you than a woman, and at that smile, Shane resolves that his Christmas gift this year shall be a night with young Dean.

“I’m sure the pastor won’t mind in the least.” Shane smiles kindly, and tries to remember anything from the book Dean had been absorbed in. He’s drawing a blank, and in all honesty, he’s not sure he’s actually read that particular tome. He’s read most of the books in his father’s library but he’s been away most of the year, so the new arrivals are still unknowns to him.

“He says that I’ll never be… _redeemed_ if I don’t stop indulging in my sins.” Dean looks up Shane, and all of the shyness that had been there fades away. “He tells me that indulging in the sins of the flesh is something that I need to stop in order to ensure my way into Heaven.” Shane laughs at the rakish smile that’s spread over the young man’s lips. “You strike me as a man who thinks some things aren’t worth paradise, Master Shane.”

“Perhaps.” Shane smiles back, and glances around the library, hoping that none of the house staff are nearby to overhear this conversation. Gossip is a currency in this place, and Shane is sure many people are in his debt when it comes to providing them with juicy titbits.

“Perhaps? Hmm… That’s not what I’ve heard. The scullery maids told me to be on the lookout. That you’ve a silver tongue so sweet that even angels would be tempted.” Dean smiles once more, his eyes filled with teasing mirth.

“I fear you were lied to, Dean.” Shane glances away. It’s rare he feels so charmed by one of his potential conquests. Rare, but delightful. Dean will be a fine addition to Shane’s long list of bed mates. He stands, and leans over Dean. “Although, I have been told the same thing, so perhaps you’d like to not take my word for it.” Shane whispers where his room is into Dean’s ear, and brushes a soft kiss to his lips. “Tonight, around nine?”

“Hmm… Let me think on it.” Dean collects the book from where Shane had left it on the table, and returns to reading, leaving Shane to entertain himself elsewhere.

At dinner, there’s some manner of kerfuffle between his sister, her husband and the Pastor that Shane ignores by engaging the captain and his son in conversation. Cabana is sharp witted and charming, and his son is a fiery little bundle of chaotic energy and no concept of social norms. He makes all manner of snide comments that have his father looking mortified. In a few years, Shane would definitely consider the boy for his bed, but as it is he’s too young, and his father is too present. After dinner Shane ends up in the drawing room with the Russian Countess, her footman and Cabana to play cards. Cabana’s son had already taken off. Apparently, he’d befriended one of the farmhands and they’d scheduled a card game of their own. The Russian Countess turned out to be much more entertaining and relaxed when away from those she means to impress, and her man had a dry, scathing wit when coupled with the Captain’s made for a very entertaining evening.

At around nine, Shane excuses himself, and _retires_ for the night. He’s utterly unsurprised to find Dean in his room. The young man is dressed in nothing more than his shirt and britches, sitting on Shane’s bed, with one foot on it, the other dangling down. Almost as though he was presenting himself for Shane’s viewing pleasure. Dean smiles enticingly as Shane closes and locks the door behind him.

“I thought perhaps to give you a Christmas present.” Dean raises from the bed, and comes closer. “Although, with you wrapped up so, maybe it’s me who’s getting the present.” Dean’s hands reach out for Shane.

“I think not. You wait there, and I’ll soon be ready to finish unwrapping my gift, boy.” Shane slides his hand into the mass of Dean’s curls, and pulls him closer. “A taste first?” Dean grants his request for a kiss easily. He tastes like the wassail punch, like warmth, apples, sugar, and spice.

“Fine, fine.” Dean steps away, and watches Shane remove his clothing quickly. “I heard from one of the servants that someone spotted us in the library.” Shane looks up from unlacing his britches as Dean speaks. “The story goes that I was having a coughing fit, and that you were tending to me.”

“That’s very much not what happened.” Shane laughs, and Dean smiles coyly.

“Well, I was asked what happened, and that’s what I said.” Dean makes grabby hands towards Shane once his clothes are entirely removed. “You hide quite the body under all those layers, Master Shane.”

“Just Shane… Unless you like having a master in the bedroom, Dean.” Shane slips a hand up under Dean’s shirt, and smooths his hand over the planes of Dean’s lean stomach and chest. “Does that pastor not feed you? You feel as delicate as a bird.” Shane leans forward and kisses Dean. Dean’s arms wrap around Shane’s body pulling him close. His arms feel strong and solid around Shane.

“I eat just fine, though I confess to be sorely lacking in meat.” Dean grins, and grinds his still clothed groin against Shane’s hardening cock. “Perhaps you could find the charity within yourself to feed me a little.” Dean hands smooth down Shane’s back. One lingers on Shane’s ass, the other comes around to cup and tease his cock and balls.

“I’m sure I could. I’m known for my charitable donations after all.” Shane chuckles, and starts to undo enough of the catches on Dean’s shirt to pull it straight over his head. With the shirt removed, Shane turns his attention to the lacing of Dean’s britches. Dean’s not helping in this endeavour. He seems to be more interested in kissing and touching every part of Shane he can reach. “As wonderful as this is, we’re not going to get very far if you don’t cooperate.” Shane mumbles as he pulls away from another kiss Dean had drawn him into.

“Ah! Forgive me.” Dean quickly undoes the last of the laces, and lets the britches fall to the floor. “There. Am I suitably not attired?” Shane walks Dean back, and presses him down to the bed. He takes a step back and admires the slender form spread out before him. Dean’s skin has a beautiful golden hue, stretched over his leanly muscled body. His cock stands erect from its thatch of curls, a few shades dark than the ones on Dean’s head. “You mean to do nothing but stare?” Dean ask with a coy lilt to his voice. He takes his cock in his hand and starts stroking it slowly, his legs spreading, giving Shane a view of his dusky hole.

“You mean to drive me mad.” Shane murmurs, and fetches his slick from its hiding place in a drawer. “I’m forgoing feeding your mouth. There’s another empty hole that I feel the need to fill.” Dean grins expectantly at Shane’s words, and spreads his legs further.

“Then by all means, fill away.” Shane slides a slickened finger into Dean, watching the younger man’s face carefully. Dean’s head is pressed back against the pillows, his eyes barely open, watching Shane just as carefully in return.

“I’m more than ready for another finger.” Dean bucks his hips up. The second finger slides inside Dean with far less resistance than Shane had been expecting.

“You’re used to taking a cock? The pastor not as holy as he makes out?” Shane chuckles as he eases a third finger inside Dean.

“The pastor is an ass, far too much of one to enjoy this. I, on the other hand, believe that God put us here to enjoy the fruits of his labours. The most sensitive part of a man is deep up his ass. If God didn’t want a man to enjoy being fucked, he wouldn’t have done that.” Dean moans as Shane starts to gently tease his most sensitive part.

“You’re talking of the same God who put the tree he didn’t want Adam and Eve to eat from in the same place as them, and then told them not to eat it. God isn’t very good at planning.” Shane leans down, and starts to kiss at Dean’s throat. “But if he meant for any man to be fucked, then it would be you. To see you like this is to know that this body was made to take it.” Shane presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. “You ready?”

“More than ready.” Dean cups Shane’s cheek, and pulls him into a kiss. His hand steals down Shane body and starts to manipulate his cock. Dean’s hand is slightly too dry, but the added friction merely makes Shane crave being inside Dean even more. “C’mon. Slick this.” He squeezes Shane’s cock, and smiles wickedly. “And fill me.” Shane moves quickly to comply with Dean’s demanding request. He’s slicked and thrusting into Dean in mere moments. Dean moans low and rumbling, his legs coming up to wrap about Shane’s waist.

“For as easily as you take a cock, you’re still tighter than a virgin.” Shane pants near Dean’s ear. Dean’s body is wrapped around him like no other body ever has. It feels as though Dean’s tight hole was made to be filled by Shane.

“Move, and you’ll find me more accommodating than a virgin though.” Dean’s fingers are massaging at Shane’s shoulders. Shane does as Dean suggests, and starts to thrust into him. Dean’s body clings to him, but it also welcomes him deeper and deeper, with each thrust Shane gathers speed, and power. Dean’s urging him on with each movement, whisper encouragements or moaning incoherently in Shane’s ear.

“Will you tend to yourself, or will I?” Shane asks as he feels his orgasm approaching. Dean looks at him almost blearily. He’s past saying coherent words, left with nothing but pants and moans. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Shane slips a hand between them, and easily finds Dean’s weeping cock. His pre-cum makes jerking him off easy, and before long Dean’s cum is being rubbed between their rutting bodies. After he’s cum, Dean is even more lost to Shane’s movements. Each additional nudge of his prostate seems to make Dean shiver and moan. Shane holds Dean’s sex-ravaged body close as he cums, his hips working to drive his cum as deeply into Dean as he can. Shane pulls out of Dean’s body almost reluctantly. His channel had been snug and glorious, leaving it is a hardship. For a moment, Shane lies on his back regarding the roof, and then Dean’s moving beside him, using a cloth taken from the nightstand to wipe off Shane’s still sensitive penis with delicate, practiced strokes. He gets off the bed, presumably tending to his own clean up. Taking another man inside him is something Shane does with great irregularity because of the cleaning that’s required afterwards. He dislikes the feeling of another man’s seed running between his buttocks, and hates the awkward squeezing, and prodding that must be done if you want to avoid that sensation. “You’ll stay until the morning, surely.” Shane sits up when Dean’s gone from bed for a little longer than he’d like. Dean turns to him, his shirt back on, and in the process of lacing his britches.

“I… You’d want me to?” Dean sounds very dubious, and Shane nods emphatically.

“I share my bed with my lovers, not just my seed.” Shane chuckles, and Deann pulls his shirt over his head once more.

“I’d have rather you shared less the seed to be honest. I’m certain that entire pitcher of water is white now.” Dean laughs and steps out of his britches. He crawls up the bed, and launches himself at Shane. “Perhaps in the morning, before the sermon we could see if you’ve any more seed to share?” Dean leans down and takes a kiss from Shane.

“I’m certain in the morning I’ll have more than enough seed to share with you.” Shane cards his fingers through Dean’s curls, and tugs him down to sleep. “I think though that we can skip the sermon. I believe I’m coming down with a fever.”

“A fever?” Dean’s hand rests on Shane’s forehead briefly, then a slow smirk spreads over his lips. “Well, as you no doubt caught it from me in the library, all you shall have for Christmas is me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3rd we have All I want for Christmas is you as requested by Moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	4. I'll be home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4th - I'll be home for Christmas - Justin is back in South Africa, leaving Heath and their many kids wondering if he'll be home for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Established Slash Relationship (Justin Gabriel/Heath Slater), Separation Angst, Children, Fluff.

The trailer looks nice. Tinsel taped to the roof, a fake tree in one corner near the TV, lights strung around the big window. It looks like a little Santa’s grotto. The kids love it, but Heath knows they’d love one thing more. He’d known marrying a man from another culture, and another country would be hard, but he’d not expected it to be this hard. He’d foolishly expected marry Justin would be easy, because nothing is as easy as love, and yet. Nothing is simple with Justin. He’s always away, always busy, always working. It’s nice to have the money to afford to give their kids things, it’s nice to be able to buy the big TV, and the massive fridge, but having his man home would be better. And now he’s back home in South Africa visiting his sick mother.

“Is Daddy gonna be back for Christmas?” The youngest of their kids asks with hope in her eyes, but sorrow in her voice. Heath forces a smile to his face, and scoops her up.

“Of course, he will!” He kisses her forehead, and heads towards the girls’ room. Inside it the older two of his girls are already in bed, the oldest has her nose buried in a book, the middle girl is writing in her journal. Heath pops his youngest daughter in her top bunk over her sisters’ beds, and pulls the blankets up. “He’ll be home, and Santa will come with all kinds of presents for you, you just wait, darling.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and heads for the door. “Girls, it’s time for lights out. You already for sleep?” A chorus of yes pa comes from all three girls, and Heath switches off the light, then closes the door.  

“Stop it!” A loud young voice calls out from the boys’ room, and Heath takes a deep breath in through his mouth, and out through his nose. His boys are a rambunctious bunch that at once drive him mad, and fill him with joy. “Pa! Billy says that Dad isn’t coming back, that he’s left us like Tammy’s Dad did. Tell him he’s a liar!” The youngest of Heath’s boys is standing in the middle of the bedroom, with tears in his eyes, whilst his older brother is sitting on his bed surrounded by math textbooks, rolling his eyes.

“He’s been gone for months. He’s not called all week. He’s probably going to stay in Africa. He’s probably got another family there that he likes better.” Heath’s youngest son starts crying, and Billy shakes his head. “It’s no wonder Dad left, Timmy. It’s your fault. You’re such a cry baby.”

“That’s enough William.” Heath snaps, and his oldest son looks at him in shock.

“Pa!” He reaches for his brother, and pulls him into a hug. “I don’t know what happened, Timmy just started crying.”

“Enough, William. I heard what you said, and you’re a horrible little liar. Your Dad is coming home. He doesn’t have another family in South Africa, other than your Grandma, who is sick. He’s being a good son, which you are not! How can you say that about your father?” Controlling his temper with five kids is hard, and Heath has the feeling in that moment he’s failing terribly. Billy looks at him with a mixture of remorse and indigence.

“He’s not called all week. Christmas is tomorrow and he’s not even called us.” There’s a hint of tears in Billy’s voice, and Heath settles down on the end of his bed. He pulls both his sons to him, and holds them close.

“He’ll have been busy, or the Wi-Fi will be out, or the power down. You know what it’s like out there.” Heath strokes their hair, and presses kisses to each of their heads. “No more of this, alright? Your Dad will be home when he can be. You’re Grandma is very sick, and he’s being a good son.” Heath kisses them again. “Now get to bed, or Santa won’t come visit.” His two boys look at him with contrite expressions.

“I’m sorry, Pa. I just… I miss Dad.” Billy sighs softly, and hugs his little brother. “I’m sorry I said mean things to you because I was feeling sad. I didn’t mean any of them.” Little Timmy nods thoughtfully, looking like he’s considering his big brother’s words. Heath’s always stressed the importance of apologising to his children, apologising and then evaluating the quality of that apology is an important part of being a good grown-up.

“I understand why you said it, but it wasn’t fair.” Timmy bites his lip, and looks like he’s thinking hard about what to say next. “Next time you feel sad hug Pa. That always makes me feel better. Wait!” Little Timmy hops from his brother’s bed to his own. “Rory makes me feel better too. You want to borrow him?” He holds out his stuffed lion to his big brother, and Billy takes it from him with a smile.

“Thank you, Timmy. I’m sure Rory will make me feel better.” Billy ruffles his brother’s hair, and turns to Heath. “I need to brush my teeth, Pa.”

“Alright. Timmy, you get settled in bed, and I’ll go with Billy to brush my teeth too.” Heath ushers his oldest son towards the bathroom, knowing that they’re not just going to brush their teeth.

“Is Dad really coming back, Pa?” Billy asks as he squeezes toothpaste out onto his toothbrush. He meets Heath’s eyes in the mirror with a sad little look in them. “He’s been gone ages, and I miss him. I want him to come back, but do you think he will?”

“He’ll be home.” Heath tries to force as much conviction into his voice as he can. It’s been about a week since he heard from Justin, and he’d promised to be back for Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve now, and there’s no sign of his husband. Heath can lie to his children, but he can’t lie to himself. He’s worried his husband’s bailed on them. “Now, off to bed with you. G’night boys!” Heath calls out, and heads to his own bedroom.

Heath’s been in bed for maybe two hours, tossing and turning, when he hears a strange noise outside. Without thinking, he grabs the shotgun from its hiding place, and creeps out of his room, down towards the front of the trailer. He can hear a key fumbling at the door, and wonders if perhaps his neighbour is bringing the presents he’d hidden in his trailer over earlier than they’d agreed on. More swearing, and then finally the door cracks open. Heath cocks the gun just as the lights in the trailer’s front room come on.

“Put that down.” The voice that comes to him from behind the fake Santa beard is so familiar, so welcome, so not what he’d been expecting. He resets the safety, and stashes the shotgun on a high shelf before launching himself at his mate. Justin squeezes him tightly, kisses him, then laughs. “I told you I’d be home for Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by @aeternuslibero on Tumblr.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	5. Baby it's cold outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5th - Seth and Sasha try to help Noam with his crush, but the Scottish Supernova mostly has this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Het (Nia Jax/Noam Dar), Fluff, Match-making.

“Yon lass is well tidy, like.” There are many questions Seth has regarding the situation he’s found himself in, but he’s not entirely sure who to address them to. He’d never anticipated becoming an adoptive big brother to the cruiserweights, and he’s certainly not expected to be all but stalked by the most incomprehensible newest member of the division. Noam has latched onto him like a limpet, and whilst about sixty percent of the time Seth doesn’t mind, the other forty it’s highly annoying. That forty percent is mostly when he’s talking. Seth speaks English, he knows what most of the words are, he’s just not sure what they mean in the contexts Noam uses them.

“Yes?” It’s generally safest to agree, agree and wish Finn a speedy recovery so he can take his adopted little brother back.

“Oi! Hands off! I saw her first, eh.”

“Who are we talking about?” It’s one of the female wrestlers, that much Seth knows, but which one is a mystery. Most of them are either married, or engaged, or dating, but he has a feeling that a rival for his affections wouldn’t out Noam off. He seems like the sort of guy to walk up to a girl and tell her (and here Seth’s quoting a story about something that happened in Ibiza, at least he thinks that’s where the story was set, it’s hard to say with Noam’s chaotic grasp on storytelling) to grab her coat because she’s pulled.

“Mah warrior queen. Look at her. She fucking kicked yon wee lassie’s cunt right in… Aye mun, she’s fucking well fit.” Noam’s gazing starry eyed over at the women who’ve just come back from the ring, and Seth has two problems, one he’s not entirely sure what was just said at him, and two he’s no idea who it was said about.

“I’m going to guess that was a compliment-“

“Fuck sake.” Noam hisses under his breath, and levels Seth with a sharp look. “You Yanks. It’s gotta be nothing but the shite you’re used till, doesn’t it? No such thing as a dialect, or an accent. All Midwest blah.”

“Uh… Sorry?” It’s probably best to apologise. Noam looks like Seth’s dog before he launches himself at the postman.

“Ach, nae bother. I just need till mind.” Noam’s distracted by the women again, and Seth chances another look at them to try and work out who the _warrior queen_ might be.

“So, which one is it you’re after?” Seth decides just asking will save time. He’s not in the mood for guessing games, he gets enough of those with trying to understand Noam.

“Hey Seth.” Sasha pats him on the shoulder as she comes over to stand with them. “I can’t help but notice you’ve stolen Finn’s mini-me… You missing the real thing too?” She laughs, and Noam joins in.

“Aye well, I’m hoping being in a different division’ll keep me from joining the illustrious list of folk Seth’s taken it upon himself till break.” Sasha laughs at Noam comment, and Seth swipes at his head. The younger man hops out the way, and straight in Nia. “Sorry!” He turns bright crimson, and scampers off.

“Those little ones are weird.” Nia stares after him, and shakes her head. “That one’s always lurking about, and then vanishing. He told me that I’d kicked the _shite_ out of some queen… I think he said queen, maybe it was quin… I don’t know… He’s weird.” Nia shakes her head again, and Seth can feel Sasha’s eyes on him.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Sasha moves so she’s standing in front of him, a smirk on her face. “And I think you’ve just realised what I spotted a couple of weeks ago.”

“On Nia?” Seth mutters, and Sasha nods.

“Why not? She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She is, but he’s so… _small_! She’d eat him.”

“I think he’d rather eat her, to be honest.” Sasha laughs, and Seth rubs his eyes, trying to shake the mental image that summoned up from his mind. “So, do you want to help me hook them up?”

“Nia and Noam? I…” Seth sighs, and rubs his eyes once more. He’s not sure what to make of this, but he supposes the heart wants what the heart wants.

That night the roster are out in the hotel bar. Nothing fancy, just a few drinks after the show to unwind. Sasha had detailed a very simple plan to get Nia to at least talk to Noam, so that the cruiserweight could attempt to seduce her on his own.

The plan is easy. Seth orders Nia’s drink, tells the bartender to say it’s from Noam, and then they trust Noam to have a silver tongue when presented with his warrior queen.

“I ordered Nia’s favourite, and told the barman to tell her it was from him. What do we do now?” Seth asks as he sneaks back to the corner table Sasha’s commandeered.

“Shh.” Sasha hisses as he takes a seat beside her. Nia approaches Noam, and the young Scot seems to flounder. All of his bravado evaporates in the face of Nia and whatever she’s saying to him. “Why the hell is he so bad at this? She’s there talking to him! Why isn’t she staying? Oh, my god. He’s terrible at this.” Nia walks away, and Noam briefly looks heartbroken, then returns to drinking. Seth facepalms, and groans.

“He’s all of twelve to be fair.” Seth mutters, and scrubs a hand over his face. “Do we have a plan B?”

“Get Nia really drunk?” Sasha mutters, and shakes her head. “Let me think.” Sasha sips at her bright cocktail, and Seth casts his gaze around the bar. Noam’s not where they’d left him, in fact he’s over with Nia. Whatever he’s saying this time seems to be holding her attention. She meets Seth eyes, and smiles sweetly at him, then winks.

“Oh shit!” Seth nudges Sasha.

“What!” She scowls up at him.

“I think Nia just got the wrong end of the stick. Noam’s over there talking to her, and then she winked at me. I think he saw me ordering her a drink, and that’s what he said to her, and oh shit! If this makes him sad, Finn’ll kill me-“

“I’m sure Finn’s gonna kill you anyway, you broke his shoulder.” Sasha mutters, her eyes darting around the bar, looking for an escape route.

“Not helping.” Seth snaps, and Sasha shrugs.

“What do you want me to say? Don’t worry about it? Nia will know she’s not your type anyway. Everyone knows you go for wannabe edgy goth chicks anyway.” Sasha laughs, and Seth shakes his head.

“Whatever. How are we gonna fix this?” Seth takes a swig of Sasha’s drink, and looks back over to where Noam and Nia are still talking.

“I don’t know that we do… Oh god! We do! He just winked at me.” Sasha downs the rest of her drink, and grabs Seth’s arm. “We’re going over there, and we are sorting this out right now.”

“Well, hey there, Sasha.” Nia’s all sugar sweet smiles and charm when they get over to the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Seth.” Nia takes a long drink of the cocktail. “Sex on the beach is my favourite.”

“Naw. Sand gets all o’er the place, hen.” Noam laughs, and Nia looks over at him, a thankfully fond smile on her face.

“Do you come with a translator?” Noam laughs at Nia’s question, and offers her a brilliant smile.

“I suppose we could go down the beach and look for a babel fish.” He gives her a rakish wink, and Nia shakes her head.

“ _So_!” Sasha cuts in before Noam can say anything else that’s either really weird date idea, or a terrible euphemism. “You two having a nice time?”

“Course!” Noam flashes a brilliant smile at Sasha. “Even better now that you’re here, doll.” Nia smacks Noam’s thigh at that. “Sorry, sorry. I forget she’s a married woman. She disnae look the type to be married though.”

“Hmm, well she is, so back off little man.” Nia chuckles and drains the last of her drink.

“Aye, well she’s no my type.” Noam winks at Nia, and waves the bartender over. “Another for the lady.”

“You trying to get me drunk, haggis?” Nia laughs again, and Noam whispers something into her ear. Seth nudges Sasha, and jerks his head towards the door.

“I think we were worrying about nothing. He seems to be doing alright.” Seth whispers to her. Sasha nods vaguely, but seems more concerned with getting a drink of her own. Noam waves her away, and orders four of some cocktails Seth’s never heard of. They’re brightly coloured, and taste weird. Not bad, but definitely weird.

“What’s in this drink?” Nia seems to be completely ignoring both Seth and Sasha, and Noam is wearing the sort of smile that makes him look like a cat that’s got the cream. Sasha taps Seth on the arm, and ushers him away from them.

“Do we take credit for this, or is this a fail on our part?” She asks as they retake their corner table. Seth glances over at Nia and Noam again. The two of them are laughing uproariously, looking perfectly content in each other’s company.

“Uh… It was a success despite us, I think.” Seth smiles at her, and drinks his weird cocktail. “You think this’ll give me brownie points with Finn?” Seth asks as Nia presses a kiss to Noam’s cheek. They finish off their drinks, and make ready to leave the bar. As they’re heading out, Noam turns to Seth with a thumbs-up.

“I think it’ll help if nothing else.” Sasha mutters, and takes another drink. “But I don’t think we should try match making again… I mean unless you want to help me fix up those two.” She gestures towards a forlorn looking Alicia Fox who’s gazing over at Cedric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	6. Silver Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6th - Cass takes Enzo Christmas shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (Big Cass/Enzo Amore) (Karl Anderson/Luke Gallows, Fluff, Christmas Shopping.

“Hey Cass!” Enzo kicks the door to the apartment he shares with his other half. He supposes you could say boyfriend, but it doesn’t really seem to fit what he and Cass have. They’re more than just boyfriends, they’re other halves. Together they make a whole. They’re like socks. They come as a pair, and just one is no good for anything. “Cass!” Enzo kicks the door again, and adjusts his grip on the big cakebox he’s carrying.

“Your man isn’t in, midget. He went out like an hour ago” One of the two big bald men who live across the hall pokes his head out of their door, a scowl on his face.

“Hey! Karl-ski! Your brew-ski’s getting warm!” The other big bald man calls out from their apartment.

“The troll’s locked out, Big LG.” Karl calls back to his roommate. Enzo holds back the urge to start something over being called both a _midget_ and a _troll_. He’s not the biggest dog in the fight, but there’s more fight in his pinkie than either of the two big lugs over the hall.

“Ah! That’s no good. C’mon in.” The bigger of the two bald men shoves the door wider, and beckons Enzo in. “We got brew-skis, and pizza. C’mon in, neighbour.” Enzo and Karl look at Luke in confusion. “What? It’s Christmas. We ain’t leaving our neighbour out in the hallway at Christmas time, jackass. Three ice cold brew-skis coming up!”

“Uh… Thanks, Luke.” Enzo meets Karl’s eyes, the shorter of the bald men shrugs.

“We’ve been drinking all morning.” He offers by way of explanation. “You want me to take that box for you?” For a second Enzo hesitates, then hands the box over to Karl, and slips inside his and Luke’s apartment.

“It needs to go in the fridge. One of those fancy cream cakes for tomorrow’s dinner.” Enzo hesitates near the kitchen door. Inside Luke and Karl’s apartment is not quite he’d been expecting. He’d thought it’d be full of empty beer cans, pizza boxes and used tissues, with either pictures of naked ladies, or leather daddies on the walls. Instead it’s kind of stylish. “Nice place. The lamps are real cool.”

“Thank you!” Luke calls out from the living room. “Welding was about the only thing I liked about my college course.”

“Don’t get him started on that.” Karl mutters, and ushers Enzo to the living. “Beer me.” Luck hands Karl a beer, and then slides one to Enzo over the table.

“So… Thanks for letting me wait here for Cass to get back.” Enzo opens his beer and takes a sip. “You did the tree yourself?” Sitting on a table in the corner of the room, is an intricate metal tree, with gaudy fairy lights twinkling in amongst the slender wire branches.

“Yup. The wiring was a bitch.” Luke laughs, and looks thoughtfully over at Enzo. “What the fuck is it you do? We’ve got a bet going, and my money is on stripper, but Karl here reckons your man wouldn’t let you do that.” Enzo starts laughing at Luke’s question, and Karl smacks him with a pillow.

“A’ight, I’ll answer your question if you answer mine for my bet with Cass.” Enzo takes another sip of his beer.

“Shoot, hip-hop-ewok.” Luke downs his beer, and slides another over to Enzo before opening another for himself. Of all the nicknames that had been fired at Enzo in the last few minutes, he thinks he likes hip-hop ewok the best, it’s one he might consider using in the future to describe himself.

“You two a thing? Cause I think yes, and Cass-“

“Is wrong.” Karl cuts in, and reaches over Luke to get a beer. “Your man has a shit gaydar. So, what has you coming home at ten in the morning?”

“I’m a DJ. I’d ask what had you drinking first thing in the morning, but I’m gonna guess it’s because it’s Christmas.” Enzo laughs, and finishes off his beer. Luke nods with a massive grin, and fist bumps Enzo.

“I gotta win that right? I said he was in entertainment.” Luke takes another drink, and nudges Karl in the ribs with his elbow.

“You said stripper, LG. You lose.” Karl takes another drink, and starts flicking through channels on the TV.

“Stripper, DJ… There’s not much difference, and it’s closer than taxi driver.” Luke swipes the remote, and changes the channel to some football game.

“Taxi driver? Like hell any sane person would be a cabbie in New York.” Enzo shakes his head, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are not messages from Cass, but he’s not overly surprised by that. Cass sure as hell didn’t know that Enzo had managed to forget his keys last night, and therefore didn’t know he needed to be home to let Enzo into the apartment in the morning.

“No word from your man?” Karl asks as he pulls a crumpled note out of his pocket and tosses it to Luke.

“Not yet.” Enzo fires a quick message off to Cass asking where he is, and gets one back quickly that says he’d gone to pick up bagels for breakfast, and that he should be back in about ten minutes. “But I got one now. He’ll be back soon.”

“You think he’ll want a brew-ski?” Luke’s on his third beer since Enzo had been invited in, and it’s only just after ten in the morning.

“I’m thinking that’ll be a no.” Karl mutters, and smiles over at Enzo. “His favourite holiday tradition is getting wasted.”

“At least he has a favourite. Cass ain’t too fond of all this… He likes the bits where you get to stay home, but the being outside, buying stuff is not his thing.” Enzo sips his beer a little slower, not wanting to get buzzed first thing in the morning.

“No one likes buying shit.” Luke downs his beer, and starts on another can. “Beer on the other hand, everyone likes beer-“

“Apart from your friends in Chicago.” Karl cuts in, and Luke laughs loudly.

“True, but no one likes pizza as much as they do.”

“Chicago pizza ain’t pizza. It’s lasagne with bread instead of pasta.” Enzo interrupts Luke, and Karl holds his fist out for a bump. “See, your boy here knows what I’m talking about.”

“Pff… Whatever. So your man don’t like Christmas?” Luke changes the subject, and Enzo shrugs.

“He does and he don’t. He likes the family stuff, but not the commercial tacky stuff. He’s a classy man, my Cass.”

“Classy, cheap, the line is thin.” Karl mutters, and downs the remains of his beer.

“He’s not that cheap, he just doesn’t do presents all that well. Last year I got an Amazon gift card. For my birthday it was dinner at a diner.” Enzo laughs, and shakes his head. “He’s shit with presents, good at most everything else, but shit at presents. I don’t even think he’s got me one this year.”

“You got him one?” Karl levels Enzo with a thoughtful look.

“Course, I do. What’d you think I am? Some kind a shitty boyfriend? I got him a good present too.”

“You gonna tells us what it is?” Luke doesn’t sound overly interested, but that’s possibly because he’s channel surfing once more, already bored of the football game that’d been playing in the background. There’s a knock on the door before Enzo can answer. He bounces to his feet, and polishes off his beer.

“I’ll get your cake from the fridge if you wanna get that.” Karl gets to his feet, and Enzo heads for the door.

“Morning Cass.” Is all Enzo gets out before Cass wraps him up in a hug. “How you doing?” Cass doesn’t answer, instead he presses a kiss to Enzo’s lips, and smiles down at him.

“How you doing?” Cass ruffles Enzo’s hair, and looks up to Karl, who’s just arrived with the cakebox. “Hey. Thanks for keeping an eye on him.” Cass thanks Karl, and takes the cakebox from him.

“No problem. I’m guessing you’re gonna go present shopping now then?” Karl smiles gleefully at Cass, and Enzo almost wants to smack his neighbour. He doesn’t mind Cass not having a present for him, the only present he really wants is Cass anyway.

“Uh… Yeah, of course.” Cass smiles down at Enzo, and then looks confused by the scowl on Enzo’s face. Enzo has little desire to go shopping. What he wants is to shower, eat, then spend the rest of the day on the couch with Cass, but apparently, they’re going shopping.

“Have fun!” Luke shouts from inside as everyone is exchanging goodbyes.

“How come you were at the neighbours, Zo?” Cass once they’re inside their own apartment, and Enzo is stripping down for a shower.

“Cause, I’m a dumbass who forgot his keys. Put that in fridge, and I’ll get ready to go out.” Enzo nods towards the cakebox in Cass’s hands.

“Alright. I’ll get some coffee on, and feed you these before we head downtown.” Cass holds up his bag of bagels with a smile.

Breakfast is annoying quick, and before long they’re outside their apartment building. Cass takes Enzo’s hand, and starts wandering down the street. Living in the city at this time of year is a blessing and a curse. The streets are beautifully festive, all lights and bell-ringers, but there’s also the slow walking, loud talking people.

“So, I ain’t got you a present yet, Zo.” Cass admits softly, not looking at Enzo, instead he’s looking at the window displays they’re walking past.

“I don’t need no present, Cass. I got you, that’s present enough.” Enzo squeezes Cass’s hand, drawing his attention from the window to him.

“I’m not not getting you a present, Zo. That’d be…rude, or selfish, or something.” Cass mutters, and pulls Enzo a little closer. “What you want?”

“I dunno, Cass. I don’t really need anything.” Enzo bumps into Cass as they keep walking, weaving their way through the busy streets. Cass drags them through store after store, mall after mall, each time with Enzo waving off any offered gifts as unneeded.

“Hey you wanna stop with this pretending to shop bull, and got skating, Cass?” Enzo leans against the wall around the rink in one of the malls, and smiles over at Cass. “There ain’t nothing I need or want, so let’s just go make asses of ourselves.” Cass laughs at Enzo, and heads over to the skate rental booth.

“You even know how to skate, Zo?” Cass pays for two sets of skates, and hands Enzo his.

“I’m gonna learn. How hard can it be? I just gotta walk on something as sharp as my wit. No problem.” Enzo’s first step onto the ice has him careering back towards the wall. “You done this before, Cass?”

“Nope.” Cass steps gingerly out onto the ice, and falls flat on his ass.

“How you doing?” Enzo laughs, and offers Cass a hand.

“I’m doin’ fine.” Cass pulls Enzo down to the ice with him, and chuckles as Enzo tries to scramble to his feet. Eventually they both make it to their feet, and carefully they set about trying to not fall flat on their asses once more.

“I think we’ve got this.” They’ve made it around the rink twice now, with only minimal slipping, and no further total wipe-outs. Cass’s hand is clamped in Enzo’s, and they’re careful to not allow the other to get too far away. The worst near-misses come when someone tries to skate between them, or too close. Which makes sense because they’re a unit. They only work properly together.

After ice-skating, and then some hot chocolate from the seller by the rink, they head home. Cass seems once more pensive. Enzo gives his hand a squeeze, and smiles up at him when Cass turns to him.

“You wanna tell me what’s on your mind there, Cass?” Cass shakes his head at Enzo’s question, and raises their joined hands to his lips.

“I know you got me something… It’s sitting under the tree, and I feel bad that I’ve got you nothing, is all.” Cass smiles awkwardly, and Enzo laughs softly.

“Well, hows about this? You give me breakfast in bed tomorrow, starting with a little bj, followed by a little oj, and then maybe some butt play?” Enzo beams up at Cass, getting and eyeroll, and bop on the nose for his suggestion.

“Well, I suppose that’s something I could do. Still nothing for you to unwrap, but a present nonetheless.” Cass looks a little more content at Enzo’s suggestion, and pulls him a little closer to make navigating the busy streets easier.

“If you want me to do some unwrapping you can sleep in pjs for a change.” Enzo chuckles. “Maybe some extra layers, you know?”

“It’s an idea, Zo. I’ll give you that, it’s an idea.” Cass mutters. The rest of their walk home is sound tracked by carol singers, and more bell-ringers. The Christmas lights, and the imagined scent of Christmas drowns out the normal stenches of a wintery New York.

“The fuck is that?” When they get home there’s a large box on the floor, vaguely attached with a piece of string to their front door. Enzo pokes at the box curiously, and looks back at Cass.

“You seriously think I’d have not gotten you a present, dumbass?” Cass laughs, and scoops Enzo and the present up. “No poking at it till tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by takers dark lover on ff.n.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	7. Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7th - Dean has been betrayed once more, but this time it results in a reunion with someone he still loves despite their betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins), AU, Smut.

_Sorry._

_Sorry I hurt you._

_Sorry I betrayed you._

_Sorry._

The next line in the apology script is _I accept_ , but forgiveness isn’t something Dean gives freely. Forgiveness isn’t something Dean gives period. If you betray him, you’re a traitor. A filthy lying, no good, snake. Ellsworth is a traitor. He sold them out to Styles, and for what? For an easier life? Money? Dean doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. He’s been betrayed before, been betrayed by someone far closer to him, and lived. He’ll be fine. But he’s sick of traitors. Sick of being lied to, sick of wanting someone to apologise to him, and give him the penance he deserves. He’s sick of being owed sorry. Traitors are everywhere, and he’s sick of them. He’s sick of feeling like one, but that’s a different point, and something he’ll brood on later. This is about other people, this is about the resistance, this isn’t about what Dean did whilst he was on the other side, and it’s not about what happened after he left. This is about now. This is about giving up, or getting away.   

 “Ambrose.” A voice Dean knows well sounds in his ear. “Ambrose!” More urgent, more concerned. “C’mon you bastard, get up.” Hands grab him and haul him to his feet. “C’mon, Dean. Get up.” Dean opens his eyes reluctantly, and looks at the man trying to haul him to his feet out of the rubble of what was their base. “C’mon. We can’t stay here. He’ll be coming, Dean. We gotta go.”

“Can’t, Ro.” Dean mutters, but Roman hauls him up anyway, and starts half dragging, half carrying him to their escape tunnel. “Can’t believe he betrayed us… Can’t trust anyone, Ro.”

“Sure. Can’t trust anyone.” Roman mutters, and props Dean against the wall. He starts pulling the boards off the entrance to the tunnel. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“You don’t count, Ro. You’re my brother.” Dean groans, and slithers down the wall. He can hear voices, loud, commanding voices, ordering people start looking in the wreckage, to find and capture survivors.

“Yeah, well. Whatever.” Roman pulls the last of the boards off the wall, and then sets up a IED to cover their tracks a little at least. Hopefully it’ll be enough to let them get out of the tunnel system. “C’mon, you’re not that beat up, you can walk.”

“Walking ain’t gonna help us.” Dean stands up, and rubs at his eyes. His head feels foggy, and his limbs feel like they’re not attached properly, but he’s been in worse explosions, he’s been in worse situations. They’ll be fine. They’ll get down into the escape tunnels, and they’ll get back on with the work of resisting Styles and the despots he’s employed by. They’ll get back to HQ, or a semblance of HQ, and send word back to Shane.

“Walking’s better than waiting for them to find us.” Roman shoves Dean forward, and finishes off his work on the bomb. “We got twenty seconds to get out of the blast radius.”

“What if he’s up there?” Dean glances back over his shoulder as he forces himself to moves as quickly as he can. He doesn’t want anything to happen to him.

“Ellsworth?” Roman sounds confused, and for a moment Dean is as well.

“No… Little brother.” Dean sighs, and speeds up. The shock from the blast that brought their safe house down is clearing, and he feels more in control of himself, more like himself.

“Seth? I don’t think they’d send him out this way. Not so soon.” Roman presses Dean into a little dugout, as the blast from his IED sends a dust cloud down the tunnel.

“They’ll have fixed him though, and they’ll want to test _how_ fixed he is.” Dean closes his eyes, and an image of Seth forms in his mind. Seth’s big brown eyes, his smile, the shock of blond hair falling down one side of his face. “Never trust a man who bleaches his hair.” Dean laughs suddenly, and Roman pulls him out of the dugout.

“Sure.” The big man starts running again, Dean’s hand held tightly in his, forcing Dean to speed up. “We need to get out of here. Pick it up, Deano.” A single shot rings out, and lodges into the dirt wall in front of them. A laugh. A grating, cackling laugh Dean knows well. Roman swears, and stops running. “Speak ye not of the devil.” He mumbles, and glances over at Dean.

“I knew you’d come down here. You’re too predictable, boys.” Seth appears from the shadows of one of the offshoot tunnels, a grin on his face, and dirt on his uniform. “You wanna come quietly, or you wanna bleed out in the dirt?” Roman raises his hands, dragging Dean’s up too, until Dean shakes it free.

“You ain’t gonna shoot us, not if you remember us, Seth.” Dean takes a step closer, and another shot rings out. The bullet lodges in the hard-packed soil near his ear.

“It’s funny what you remember after they _fix_ you, Dean.” Seth smiles. His old smile, the smile Dean remembers from soft morning afters, and all three of them being tangled like sleeping kittens. “Now, you wanna come quietly, or do you wanna come noisily.”

“Seth, little brother. What do you remember?” Roman’s hands are still up, his eyes trained on Seth. “What do you think you know about what’s going on?” Dean shakes his head, and leans against the dirt. He’s no idea what Roman’s planning, but it’s painfully familiar.

_Sorry._

_Sorry I hurt you._

He shakes his head. Traitor. But this isn’t about him. It’s about getting away. It’s about getting to HQ.

“Ro.” Dean says it softly, and Seth’s gun is trained on Dean’s forehead.

“You wanna know what I remember, Roman? I remember your name, and I remember his face.” Seth’s smiling, but his eyes are cold. “I remember your face too, Ambrose.”

_Sorry I betrayed you._

“Ro, we need-“

“You need to be quiet, Dean.” Roman glances over at him, and then smiles at Seth. “What do you remember, Seth?”

“Like I said, it’s funny what you remember. I remember his words, but not his voice. I remember his face, but not what colour his eyes were. Funny, isn’t it?” Seth takes a step closer. “What do you remember, Ambrose?”

“Does it matter?” Dean squints down the tunnel behind Seth looking for signs of movement. He doesn’t want to be stuck down here too long. He doesn’t want to go over this with Seth. He doesn’t want to hurt Seth any more than he has, but he doesn’t want to die. “Seth, either kill me, or let us go. Those are your only options, because unless you took System soldiers down here with you, you’re out-numbered.”

“But not out-gunned.” Seth smiles again, and Dean shakes his head.

“You’re not going to shoot me. You might want to kill me, but you won’t shoot me.” Dean glances behind him. The tunnel looks ominously dark, and thankfully empty.

“What makes you so sure.” Seth sounds so sure, but Dean knows him. “We were so sure of you too, don’t forget that Dean.”

“What do you remember, Seth?” Roman interrupts, and Seth glares over at him.

“Shut up! Stop asking me that. It doesn’t matter what I remember, because I’ve been fixed. What I remember isn’t important.” Seth swings the gun from aiming at Dean to Roman.

“You’re not going to shot anyone, Seth. Stop pretending you are.” Seth scowls at Dean, the gun still pointing squarely at Roman. “If you’re going to shoot anyone it’s not going to be Roman, Seth. You remember him.” The gun wavers, and Seth lowers it.

“I remember Roman.” Seth closes his eyes. “I remember Roman.” He repeats. Dean lunges forward, and bangs Seth’s head against the wall, rendering him unconscious.

“Let’s go.” Dean takes the gun, and holds it out to Roman. He doesn’t trust himself with guns.

_Sorry I hurt you._

“We can’t leave him here. Help me carry him home.” Roman takes a hold of Seth’s arms, leaving Dean with his legs.

They make a quick detour a safe house to get some cure to the fix, and then with Seth taking a chemical induced nap they carry him to the HQ. Once there, they’re shown to a little room away from the main control centre for the _Rebellion._ It doesn’t feel like a rebellion to Dean, it feels more like a resistance, more like people clinging desperately to what makes them people, and not conceding to be being _fixed_ into mindless drones for the System.

Seth calls out softly in his sleep, and Dean glances over at him nervously. He’s seen people detoxing from their fix before, but he’s never felt this responsible for it. He’s never been the one in charge of it. Roman had volunteered. He’d offered, but this is something Dean needs to do. Seth being in this state is his fault. Other people can tell him it’s not all they want, but he knows that it is.

_Sorry._

_Sorry I betrayed you._

He shakes his head, and brushes Seth’s sweaty hair from his face. Seth calls out again, but Dean ignores what he’s saying. It’s not important. It’s not going to change anything. Some betrays can’t be made up for, some traitors deserve their punishment.

_Sorry I hurt you._

“How’s he doing?” Roman pokes his head around the door. Dean glances back over his shoulder, and smiles awkwardly at him.

“He’s fighting it.” Dean doesn’t clarify what Seth’s fighting. He could be fighting the cure to the fix, or he could be fighting the fix, but that’s because he doesn’t know. You can’t tell when the patient’s still out what’ll come from all of this. He can hope, but that’s all you can do, hope. Roman comes into the room, and sets a tray of food down.

“Eat up, Deano.” Roman wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders, and takes the damp rag from Dean’s hand. “He ain’t gonna fight it any better if you do or don’t go on hungry strike.”

“I know, but I… This is my fault.” Dean takes one of the sandwiches on the plate, and starts eating it.

“Yeah, it is, but you can’t blame yourself for that.” Roman swipes the damp rag over Seth’s forehead. “I remember doing this for you back then. At least Seth’s calm about all this. You were literally fighting it. We had to strap you down. Completely out, but we still had to strap you down. Seth wouldn’t come into the room. He kept hovering by the door looking in.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“He blamed you.” Roman doesn’t look up from Seth’s face. “I think they all did. I didn’t know him, because I was raised in the System, but the others… They blamed you.”

_Sorry I betrayed you_.

“Yeah… If it helps, I blame me too.” Dean shoves the last of the sandwich into his mouth, and tries to keep his mind blank.

“It’s funny what you remember.” Seth says with sudden clarity. “I remember his voice, but not his words.” Dean winces at that. He’s entirely sure he doesn’t want Seth remembering too much, because if he remembers, it might start the whole cycle off again. Knowing too much lead to Seth going back to the System again in the first place.

“Seth.” Dean says softly, reaching out to stroke Seth’s cheek. Seth turns to look at him hazily.

“I remember… I remember you being here like this… I remember a shot, and I remember blood, and nothing.” Seth smiles vaguely. “Will Punk be in to see me?” Dean looks away with a sigh.

“Don’t answer that.” Roman whispers softly to Dean. “No answer is better than a lie or the truth right now.”

“I remember him saying it’d be okay…” Seth trails off, and falls back to sleep.

_Sorry._

“I should go.” Dean tries to stand, but Roman’s arm tightens around him. “Roman, if he remembers one of two things are gonna happen. One he remembers and goes back to them, or two he remembers and kills me. Either way, I end up dead, so it’s better that I’m gone.” Roman shakes his head, and pulls Dean closer.

“Or three, he remembers and forgives you. You were _fixed_ -“

“Yeah, I was fixed, but I didn’t fight it like he wanted me to. He was trying to get me to fight it, and I didn’t, because I wasn’t strong enough.” Dean closes his eyes and tries very hard to not remember the feeling of a gun in his hand, and the heat of it going off. He tries so hard to forget Punk asking him to remember who he was, and to put the gun down, to fight the fixing. He tries to forget failing. He tries to forget that he’s a traitor.

_Sorry_.

“Did Ellsworth know where HQ was?” Roman changes the subject sharply, and Dean shrugs.

“I never told him. I trusted him, but not that much.” Dean answers, but his mind is still trying to forget blood spreading across the floor, still trying to forget Seth screaming and shaking, Roman looking confused, the feeling of someone jabbing him with a syringe filled with cure, and then falling into the blood. He tries so hard to forget the colour of Punk’s eyes, but he never quite can.

“Well, we should be okay for a while. Finish your food.” Roman jerks his chin in the direction of the last sandwich on the plate. Dean takes the last sandwich, and gets off the bed, taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room instead.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” Dean uses the sandwich to gesture to Seth’s sleeping form. Roman shrugs, but doesn’t turn around.

“I don’t know… Everyone else has forgiven you.” Roman wipes the damp rag over Seth’s forehead again, and rinses it in the bowl on the table by the bed.

“Forgiven, but not forgotten.” Dean mutters, and rests his head back against the wall. “No one will forget. Do you think he’s dead?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Roman turns to Dean this time. His eyebrows knit, and his mouth pulled down into a scowl. “He was one of the leaders of a rebellion, I don’t see any reason for the System to keep him alive.”

“Then why didn’t they say anything about it? When they captured Bryan, it was all over the place. If Punk was dead-“

“If he’s dead he’s not important anymore. You know how they work, Dean. They’re not concerned with people who mean nothing, and the dead mean nothing.” Roman’s scowl passes into a smile, and Seth mumbles something. “We spent how long being their shield? How many people did we kill, and nothing was ever said?”

“You guys fought it though. You fought the fix, and you’d been born into the system. I fucking worked with him, and I still-“

“You weren’t yourself, Dean.” Roman just Dean off. “You weren’t you, and it’s okay. Forgive yourself.”

_Sorry I betrayed you._

“You don’t understand, Roman. I’d known him for years. Before me and Seth were sent under cover...” Dean sighs, and goes back to the bed. “Brothers first, then lovers.” Roman shrugs. He grew up in the System. The world outside of it is still new to him. He’s still learning, and Dean has to remember to give him leeway in that. “It doesn’t matter, I guess.” Dean polishes off the sandwich, and comes back over to the bed. He sits down beside Roman, and rests his head on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright.” Roman mutters, and strokes Seth’s cheek. Seth’s eyes flutter open, and he stares at Dean blankly. A smile slowly spreads over his lips. He reaches out for Dean, and pulls him into a hug.

“I’m sorry.” Dean murmurs, and Seth squeezes him tightly. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay. You weren’t yourself… None of us were then. I… I was hurt, and furious, but I forgive you.” Seth presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek, and reaches for Roman. “I’m sorry I betrayed you both.” He says it so softly that Dean almost doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t need to hear it, all he needs it to know that Seth is okay, that Seth is himself, the fix is undone, and Seth is once more Seth.

“I guess…” Dean murmurs, Seth sighs, and pulls both Roman and him into a hug.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m me now, and you’re you. I’m me, and I have a lot of information that we’ll find useful.” Seth beams at them. Roman cups his cheek, and press a kiss to Seth’s lips, then one to Dean’s.

“I’m relieved to have you back, Seth.” Roman settles on the bed Seth’s lying on better, and draws Seth over to him, settling Seth’s back against his chest. It feels like no time has passed. It feels like it did when they worked for the System, and all they were concerned about was bringing down the Rebellion, long before everything fell apart.

“Me too.” Dean reaches out to Seth, and cups his cheek. “I’m sorry I betrayed you.” He murmurs, and Seth pulls him into a kiss. A long, slow kiss that reminds Dean of when they were younger, before they went undercover in the System, and got lost to it.

“You weren’t you, Dean.” Seth repeats. “You weren’t you, I wasn’t me, Roman wasn’t Roman.” Seth laughs, and Roman nods sagely. “I’ve missed you.” Seth murmurs, and kisses Dean again. His hand trails down Dean’s back, under the waistband of his pants, and over his ass. “Do you have lube? I’ve missed you.” Seth squeezes Dean’s ass, and smiles slightly. “Missed you so much.” Roman’s already fetched the lube from his pocket, and hands it to Seth.

“We’re gonna need to get out of these clothes for this.” Roman laughs, and presses a kiss to the side of Seth’s head. Seth starts stripping quickly, Roman and Dean follow suit as fast as the can. Seth presses Dean back against the pillows once he’s naked, and starts to finger Dean’s asshole.

“I’ve missed you like this.” Dean murmurs, his hand cupping Seth’s cheek, and stroking his skin. “I’ve missed you so much.” Seth smiles fondly, and eases inside of him.

“I’ve missed you too. I’d tell myself I didn’t, but I did. I missed you both so much.” Seth moves slowly, gently, his hands skimming over all of Dean’s skin he can reach.

“Hey… Can I get in on this?” Roman interrupts them with a chuckle. “You wanna move to your hands and knees?” Seth pulls out of Dean, letting Dean change position. Roman slides his cock between Dean’s lips, and Seth re-enters his ass. Dean loses himself in their movements, loses himself to the steady rocking of his lovers within him, the sweet reunion, the easing of guilt.

Seth’s hand wraps around Dean’s cock, and strokes him in time with his thrusts. His weight is warm and reassuring over his back, Roman’s hands in his hair are comfortingly grounding. He feels wrapped up and safe. He feels at home for the first time in a long time.

“Come for me, Dean.” Seth whispers in his ear, his hand speeding up. Dean doesn’t bother resisting Seth’s request. He lets himself be consumed by the sensations of Seth’s hand, the tightness, the speed, the perfect pressure. It consumes him, and leaves him a trembling mess between his two brothers turned once more lovers. Seth comes deep inside Dean’s ass, the familiar warmth of his cum feels more like coming home than returning to the Rebellion. Roman holds Dean’s head still, and finishes deep inside his throat. Dean closes his eyes with a smile as he feels both Seth and Roman pull out of him. He feels for the first time since he shot Punk like he no longer should say sorry. He feels like he’s less of a traitor. He feels like he’s forgiven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Kataiyida.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	8. Carol of the Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8th - Dean has lost everyone he loves, but a package arrives at his home with the promise of restoring what he's lost to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (The Undertaker/Dean Ambrose), AU, Smut.

Almost a year ago, Dean’s heart was broken. It was shattered into shards, and he’s struggled on ever since. A year ago, the only person he loved left him. Worse than that actually. A year ago, his love left the world. Death is the cruel reward for life, although until that moment, Dean had never lost someone truly important, but in that moment, he’d lost both the lives he cared for the most. His wife, and their unborn child. Since that fateful Winter morning, Dean’s friends have been trying to comfort him. They offer him platitudes, and condolences, and all the gentle words that friends can offer, but they can’t give him what he wants most. He wants to see Renee’s face again, and the face of their child for the first time. He’s tried religion, he’s tried mediums, he’s tried Ouija boards, but nothing brings him even a step closer to them.

Early in December, a package comes in the mail. There’s no post mark, and the mail carrier seems confused by it as he hands it over Dean. Inside in the package is a small music box that plays Renee’s favourite Christmas song, the Carol of the Bells, and a note.

_Find me – I can help_

Nothing else. No address, no name, nothing. Just the music box, and the note. Dean’s uncertain what to make of it, so he ends up in an online forum asking questions. All the answers point to a man who claims to be a necromancer of sorts, a man known as The Undertaker.  

It was partially a whim, partially desperation that led to Dean visiting the place where The Undertaker was said to live. Far out of the way, in the middle of a desert, where nothing seemed to be alive but cacti and buzzards. The Undertaker’s home was built into a cave, and looked as ominous as Dean had expected from a man with that name.

“You got my message.” A tall man dressed entirely in black greets Dean before he could even knock on the door.

“I did.” Dean nods, and tries to squint past the old man in front of him. “What do-“

“You’ll find out shortly what the payment is.” The Undertaker ushers him, and takes Dean’s coat. “To bring someone back, you need the seed of life.” Dean had read as much online. Those who have visited the necromancer said that they were required to provide a _service_ for him, and as humiliating as it was they all reported positive results. If this was a scam perpetuated by The Undertaker to have strangers suck him off, he’s doing a lot to spread the mythos of his story.

“I already know.” Dean stands up straight, and juts his chin out. The old necromancer laughs once, and shakes his head.

“You know what you must do, but not what you must pay.” He shrugs when Dean makes a grab for his flies. “Very well. We can begin.” Dean pulls The Undertaker’s cock out, and drops to his knees in front of him. Dean’s lips wrapped around the old necromancer’s cock, and his head bobbed up and down. He kept his teeth as far back as he could, and let The Undertaker guide his head, his fingers dug into Dean’s scalp. The Undertaker stares down at him, his eyes staring into the depths of Dean’s soul. His grasp tightens, and tears spring up in Dean’s eyes. The Undertaker’s cock is filling his throat, leaving no room for air. His hands scrabble at the necromancer’s legs, desperate to get some oxygen. The Undertaker smirks down at him, and pulls back just enough for Dean to snatch some air, and then fills his throat once more. He fucks Dean’s throat vigorously for what feels like hours, letting Dean get less, and less air until eventually he cums. Once The Undertaker’s cum, he pulls away from Dean, and fetches a vial. “Spit.” He holds it out to Dean to accept the cum that’s filling his mouth. Gratefully Dean spits the cum in his mouth out. The Undertaker turns away once more. “Fill this one.” The necromancer hands him another vial, and waves Dean away.

“You want me to…” Dean trails off, and falls silent under the necromancer’s blank gaze. He takes the vial, and turns away. The Undertaker’s home is cold, but he supposes that his cum is needed for whatever it is the necromancer is going to do. He closes his eyes and tries to picture his dead love as she was alive. Her golden hair, her sweet smile, her voice, her hands. He keeps his eyes clamped as he strokes his cock.

“Faster.” The Undertaker’s harsh voice penetrates the images in Dean’s mind, sharp and commanding. His hand speeds up to meet that command. The images in his mind shift to the last time he made love to her, her breasts bouncing as the force of his thrusts moved her up the bed. In his mind, he can remember the scent of her shampoo, and the feeling of her wrapped around him. He cums quietly, aiming his release into the vial. The Undertaker takes it from him, and returns to his workbench. There’s a bubbling beaker of liquid, that sizzles when Dean’s cum is added to it.

“What are you going to do?” Dean watches carefully, but the necromancer says nothing, instead he focusses on his work.

“Personal effect.” The Undertaker holds a hand out, and Dean places the necklace he’d given Renee on their first anniversary to him. The liquid bubbles violent when it’s introduced, and a pale lilac smoke drifts up from it. “Pour this on the grave.” The Undertaker pours the liquid into a bottle. “If there’s enough of her left, your love will return to you. But remember you don’t yet know what you must pay. The price is different for everyone.”

“Thank you, and Merry Christmas.” Dean mutters as he takes the bottle, and leaves with only one thought on his mind, Renee.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by cheryl24 on ff.n.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	9. Santa Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9th - Santa Baby - Dean's tired, but Santa wants to know what he wants for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (Chris Jericho/Dean Ambrose), Fluff.

Dean stormed into his hotel room, and threw himself on the bed. He aches, every inch of him, from his hair to his toes is in agony. He’s growing to hate extreme matches more and more the older he gets. When you’re young and dumb it doesn’t much matter, but now he’s old enough to know better, and for it to matter more in the morning. Just the thought of the morning makes him remember that he’s a different town to make then, and his morning self won’t thank him if he falls asleep still in his street clothes.

“Shower.” He announces to no one in particular, and wearily gets off the bed, heading for the bathroom.  

When Dean leaves the bathroom, the lights in the bedroom are dimmed, and a tiny LED Christmas tree is flashing on the dresser. Chris, dressed in a cheap Santa suit jacket and hat is sitting on the end of the bed. Chris pats his knee, and grins at Dean. Dean rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.

“I’m not in the mood, Chris.” Dean scrubs at his hair with the towel, turning his back to Chris. He’s tired, but sore, and wants nothing more than to fall asleep. “Shouldn’t you be wherever the hell it is you’re supposed to be instead of here?”

“Is that anyway to talk to your man?” Chris laughs, and gets to his feet. “C’mere.”

“Chris, I’m beat.” Dean lets Chris bundle him up in his arms, and hold him tight. “Ow.” Dean grumbles as Chris squeezes him too tightly.

“Poor baby. C’mon, and lie down. Santa Chris will work his magic.” Chris steps away and waggles his fingers at Dean.

“Again, I’m beat.” Dean yawns, and Chris pushes him lightly towards the bed. “Fine.” Dean drops the towel, and flops face first down on the bed. Chris rearranges him slightly, and then goes over to his back.

“You don’t have to anything but lay there.” The sweet smell of some scented oil fills the air, and then Chris’s fingers start to work over the pained muscles of Dean’s back tenderly. “Relax, babe.” Chris mutters softly, his fingers gently massaging Dean’s tired back. “What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?” Chris asks softly as he’s gently massaging Dean’s tense back, his strong fingers needing into Dean’s tense muscles.

“A new spine would be nice.” Dean mutters, shifting so he’s a little more comfortable on the bed. Chris presses a kiss to his shoulder, and keeps on massaging Dean’s sore back.

“I don’t think Santa can do that.” Chris laughs, and pours more oil over Dean’s skin. “He can give you this massage though.” Dean moans softly as Chris massages more deeply. “Is it helping?”

“Hmm?” Dean’s sunk down into a half-sleep. He feels warm, and mushy like melted marshmallows. Chris presses another kiss to his shoulder. The massage creeps further down Dean’s back. “How about this massage forever?”

“Santa will get cramps.” Chris chuckles, and keeps massaging.

“Santa is full excuses for an old magic man.” Dean grumbles softly, and Chris laughs at him.

“Magic has its limits.” Chris starts massaging Dean’s legs, working over the tired muscles of his calves.

“How about this then?” Dean stretches his legs out some more, and feels sleep beginning to creep up on him. He’s sure that Chris had been hoping for a little more tonight, but he’s too tired, and too sore to do anything but fall asleep. “We have Christmas dinner on the couch, and watch shitty movies, and no one bothers us all day. That’s what I want, Santa baby.” Chris leans over Dean’s back again, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I think Santa can manage that, Dean.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Jellybelly30 on the Tumblrs.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	10. Let It Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10th - Let It Snow - Charlotte once more finds herself in the McMahon manor for Christmas, but for the first time she meets a fiery haired scullery maid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Femslash (Charlotte Flair/Becky Lynch), Fluff.

“Daddy, do we have to be here for Christmas again?” Charlotte scowls as the carriage pulls up outside the McMahon manor. She’s been here so often that the staff are painfully familiar to her, even the ones a lady like her shouldn’t know she does. He father looks over at her with a smile, and steps out of the carriage with a flourish into the warm welcomes of the McMahon family. Charlotte slinks out, and hopes to get away from Stephanie’s sour little face, and Shane’s roving eye without incident, but her father catches her arm, and pulls her close to his side.

“Hello Charlotte. You’re growing up so fast.” The old patriarch of the McMahon family touches her arm, and she has to hold back her instinct to pull it away like it’d been burnt. She bows her head demurely, and hopes that it’s taken as her being too shy, rather than too rude. The men quickly turn away from her, leaving her alone with Stephanie and the ever-vague Linda. The old woman leaves them for her sewing once they enter the parlour. Stephanie levels Charlotte with a sharp smile, and gestures towards one of the sofas. Charlotte takes a seat, and waits for the tedious conversation that Stephanie will want to have with her. Stephanie is one of those women who thinks she’s charming, and intriguing, but in truth she’s vapid and dull.

“How long do you think that you’ll want to stay this time, dear Charlotte.” Stephanie smiles like a shark. Charlotte forces a smile to her lips, and meets Stephanie’s gaze easily.

“As long as father would like, I suppose. How long will you stay, dear Stephanie?” Stephanie winces slightly at Charlotte’s sickeningly sweet words. Stephanie is bond to stay with her parents because of her husband and his working relationship with her father. It’s a minor source of amusement, but any hint of entertainment Charlotte can gain from this miserable trip she’ll grab with both hands.

The rest of the afternoon, she spends engaged in pointless busy work. She’s no fondness for sewing and knitting, and yet there’s little else that’s suitable for a lady. She overheard two female members of staff gossiping about the visiting preacher’s young male assistant and Shane being up in the library, and whilst Charlotte would rather join in, it’s not proper for a lady to indulge in her desires to talk about others behind their back. The two servants look like they work in very different areas of the house, the blonde is dressed as one of myriad of maids that wait on Stephanie and her mother, the fiery haired one is clearly a kitchen hand. They’re much more interesting than the wool in Charlotte’s hands, so she finds herself staring at them, imagining their lives, assigning them silly made up back stories, and nonsense tribulations to have led them to being in the McMahon’s service. It’s a far more entertaining pastime than listening to Stephanie and her mother.

Dinner rolls around at once too quickly, and not quickly enough. She wants this day to be over, but then she’ll have to face tomorrow, and however many tomorrows her father decides they’re staying. She misses the excitement of the city, but hopefully her father will miss the ale and women of the city, and want to return quickly. Charlotte casts her gaze around the dining room, and fights the urge to sigh. She can’t stand the dull nature of formal dinners. She always gets bored with this sort of tedious nonsense. This particular dinner is as tedious as every other she’s ever been forced to attend. The newly arrived preacher is holding court at the opposite end of the table from her. She’s no interest in listening to him witter on, but has little choice. Her father is locked in what appears to be a half-way serious theological debate, and she absently wonders how quickly she can excuse herself from the table. The fiery haired servant she’d spotted earlier in the day is one of the servers, and seems to be stuck trying to fend her father’s hands away from her rear.

“Daddy!” Charlotte calls out to him, drawing his attention from the scullery maid and to her. The maid meets her eyes, and smiles gratefully. When it comes time for dessert, the red-haired maid makes sure to slip Charlotte an extra treat for her aid. Without meaning to, after dinner Charlotte finds herself hanging back in the dining room.

“Is there something you need, Ma’am?” The maid looks like she wants to clear the table, but with Charlotte still seated she can’t.

“I just want to say sorry about my father. He has a tendency to forget himself in the most inappropriate ways. I’m sorry if he upset or offended you.” Charlotte raises to her feet, and smiles at the maid.

“Ach, no. He’s fine. He’s the only one of the fellas here who’ve ever even tried flirting.” The maid laughs, and waves off Charlotte’s apology. “I was told Master Shane was the one to watch out for, but I’ve never heard a peep from him as long as I’ve been here.” The Irish maid laughs again, and then seems to realise who she’s talking to. “I mean… Uh… Sorry.” She finishes lamely.

“Don’t be. Shane is a terrible flirt, and I’m surprised he’s not tried to get you into his bed for a tumble. You’re a beautiful woman, certainly his type.” Charlotte mentally curses her loose tongue, and is torn between blaming the wine and her genes for it when the maid laughs.

“I’m thinking my brother might be more to Master Shane’s tastes, to be honest.” The maid laughs, and winks at Charlotte. “I’m Becky, by the way. If you need anything from the kitchens give a shout for me, and I’ll have your back.”

“It’s less food I need, and more company. I’ve been coming here since I was a little girl, and every year it grows more boring.” Charlotte rolls her eyes, and starts collecting dishes. “I’m used to my place in the city. We’ve one old cook, and that’s it. I don’t have time to sit and knit there.”

“Aye… That’d be quite different to how it is here. I’m fairly sure that the Family don’t really know how the food magically appears on the tables.” Becky waves Charlottes aide off, and starts loading the trolley with dirty dishes.

“Please, let me help. I’ll go mad if I have to spend any more time sewing.” Charlotte starts loading glasses onto the trolley, and Becky shakes her head with a wry smile.

“Alright, but this needs to go down to the kitchens.” Becky takes the handles, and starts pushing the trolley along. “You’ve been here a lot over the years then?”

“Hmm… More than I’d like, but Lord McMahon and my father go way back.” Charlotte laughs without mirth, and shakes her head. “I’d rather be back in the city, but Christmas with the McMahons is something I always have to do. It almost makes getting married sound worthwhile.”

“Ha. It can’t be that bad surely.” Becky chuckles. “I mean we at least make good food.”

“True. I’ve never found fault with the staff.” Charlotte holds the door to the kitchens open, and lets Becky pass. “It’s the utter boredom of listening to my father, and Vince talk whilst Hunter quips in like a little child that I find unbearable.”

“That’s not for me to comment on.” Becky mutters, and offers Charlotte a look that says she understands and sympathises. “I need to get these washed…” Becky waves towards the trolley of dirty dishes, and gives Charlotte a smile. “I believe that the Family have retired to the parlour, if you’d care to join them, Lady.”

“I’m sure I’d rather wash dishes.” Charlotte laughs at the scandalised expression that crosses Becky’s face. “But I suppose I should go and play at the good daughter a little longer. Should you care for a walk after the service tomorrow I’d not object to meeting in the pasture.” Becky seems like the sort of girl that Charlotte wouldn’t mind spending more time with, sharp, charming, and beautiful.

“I’ll certainly consider it.” Becky flashes a broad grin, and rolls her sleeves up. “Now off with you.” Charlotte leaves the kitchens, but decides against spending more time listening to the blathering of the menfolk in the parlour. Her bed sounds highly tempting, and the sooner she’s asleep, the sooner she’s closer to leaving this manor for another year.

After the service, Charlotte slips away, and traipses out into the snow-covered grounds of the manor. It’s so quiet and peaceful, so far removed from the noise and chaos of the manor preparing for Christmas. She wanders past the barns and out into the snow-covered pastures, revelling in the silence all around her. She hopes Becky will come and meet her. She’d very much like to discuss the sounds she’d heard last night coming from Shane’s room. Gossip may be something that godly women shouldn’t indulge in, but Shane does make it so very easy.

“Ow.” A snowball bounces off the back of her bonnet covered head. She supposes it was Shane, or one of the young gentlemen from the manor, so before she turns around, she swipes a handful of snow and forms it into a ball. She turns straight into another snowball, that darts off the front of her dress, and falls into a sad heap on the ground in front of her. A gleeful laugh is cut short as Charlotte fires her snowball at her assailant. Becky barks what sounds like a war cry, and fires back with another snowball. Charlotte ducks behind the bare tree in the middle of the pasture, and starts amassing an arsenal. Becky tosses another snowball her way, and this time it glances the edge of Charlotte’s bonnet to explode in a dazzle of snow against the tree. Charlotte collects as many snowballs as she can in her off-hand, and starts throwing snowballs at Becky. The Irish girl laughs and ducks as many as she can, but by the time Charlotte’s supply is exhausted, Becky’s coated in a dusting of snow from her fiery hair to her sensibly brown boots.

“That’s finally put some colour in your cheeks.” Becky brushes the snow from Charlotte’s bonnet, and grins at her. “There, you’re much prettier when you smile.” Charlotte hopes that Becky takes the blush that spreads over her cheeks as a flush of exertion and nothing else. “So, shall we take a walk? I need to be back in the kitchens in about an hour, but that’ll be plenty of time to take a wander around. C’mon into the woods. They’re magical at this time of year.” Becky leads the way into the woods.

“This is beautiful.” Charlotte finds herself speaking quietly in reverence for the tranquillity of the forest. With the tree branches heavy with snow, everything sounds and looks softer. From the sky a flurry of snow starts to fall, it drifts quietly down around them, adding something almost magical to the mood.

“I’m not usually a woman given to prayer, but on days like this it feels like mine have been answered.” Becky sounds perfectly content as she walks alongside Charlotte.

“It’s certainly the best way to see the manor’s grounds.” Charlotte slips suddenly, and Becky takes her arm.

“Those shoes are lovely, but not practical.” Becky laughs softly, and changes path. “Come this way the snow will be less heavy what with all the pine trees.” Becky slips into a little clearing, and twirls around. “I always feel like a lost princess in these places.” She laughs softly, and stares up towards the sky as the snow swirls around her, glittering like diamonds cast down from heaven. Charlotte follows her in, and catches her hands. The two spin lazily around to a tune only they can hear. “I should be thinking about getting back.” Becky stops in their half-waltz, and smiles softly at Charlotte. “I hope you enjoy dinner. I worked hard on the puddings.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.” Charlotte spots a sprig of mistletoe growing just above where they’d slipped into this little clearing, and resolve fills her. “C’mon, lets head back.” She takes Becky’s arm and leads her to where the mistletoe is waiting for them. “One moment.” She presses a soft kiss to Becky’s lips, and pulls away nervously. Becky beams at her, and returns the kiss fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Gmod45 on AO3.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	11. Walking in a Winter Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11th - Walking in a Winter Wonderland - A staff night out ends up with Punk being followed home by his lover, only for him to have to wait to give Sheamus his Christmas present. Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (Sheamus/CM Punk), AU, Fluff, Hangover Smut.

“I’ve said a thousand times, gaijin can’t drink sake.” Shinsuke takes another shot, and smirks over at Sheamus. Punk knows that Sheamus can’t back down from a challenge, especially not an alcohol related one, so he takes a shot too. Shinsuke smirks at Punk, and refills Sheamus’ glass. “You all think that _oh_ _sake is so weak, I can drink loads_ , and then you do and I have to drag your stupid ass back from Roppongi.” Shinsuke downs his shot, and Sheamus looks at him blankly.

“He’s not talking about you, Lucky Charms.” Punk clarifies for Sheamus. The big Irish man had looked very confused by Shinsuke’s still on-going rant about a teacher from when Punk has first come to this city. The story is quite amusing when Shinsuke isn’t drunk and ranting. Drunk ranting Shinsuke tends to lurch wildly between English, Japanese, and the strange sign language that only Shinsuke speaks, all of which doesn’t change the story’s amusing nature, but it does make it harder to follow. Sheamus smiles brightly at Punk, and takes his shot.

“C’mon, Shin. You’re slacking.” Sheamus pours more sake into Shinsuke’s glass, and nudges it over the table to him.

“Why’s it so quiet in there? Who’s singing next?” The karaoke machine has been looping through the example songs whilst they waited for Finn to get back from the little concession store down the corridor with more sake, soda and chips, now he’s back and looking at the unused machine.

“I was waiting for a duet!” Shinsuke picks Under Pressure, and tosses the second mic to Finn. “You’re Bowie.” They start singing, and Sheamus shoots another glass of sake. Punk knows he should stop him, or at least slow him down, but there’s always that part of him that doesn’t give a fuck. Sheamus is a fully-grown man, and if he ends up head first down the toilet that’s his problem. Well, it might be Punk’s problem if Sheamus follows him home, but it seems tonight he’s not an affectionate drunk, instead Sheamus seems to be in the mood to just get drunker and drunker. Another shot is poured, and taken.

“Maybe you should slow down.” Punk rests his hand on Sheamus’ arm for only a second before Sheamus shakes him off, and takes another shot.

“Maybe you should join in.” Sheamus mutters under his breath, and pours another. Punk in then that he’s going to change seats with one of the Japanese teachers. The female teachers don’t really drink, so he’ll be more at home with them, and anything is better than dealing with Sheamus when he’s only in the mood to get wrecked on alcohol.

After an hour in the karaoke building, their little room is divided into two camps. The men on the side closest to the door, sitting in a fug of cigarette smoke, and behind a wall of empty sake bottles and beer cans. The women on the other side of the room under the air vents, with empty soda bottles, and plates of snacks. The only person who seems willing to brave the great divide is Shinsuke, but that seems to be solely because he wants Punk to be on the men’s side of the room so he can back him up in more tales of the old teacher from way back when. The female teachers all head home early, collecting their husbands or boyfriends from the drunken side of the room, leaving solely the foreign teachers, Shinsuke and a couple of male teachers whose wives don’t work at the school or didn’t want to have to deal with their overly inebriated other halves.  

“You can’t hide over there now.” Shinsuke’s finally taken a seat on the pleather bench, his arms draped over the back of it. Finn and one of the Japanese teachers are massacring Jingle Bells, whilst Sheamus is continuing to try and replace all his blood with sake. “You wanna tell Uncle Shinsuke why you’re staying over there, Brooks.” Punk rolls his eyes at the ridiculous expression Shinsuke’s wearing.

“I’m not hiding. I don’t drink, and it’s nice to laugh at drunk people from a distance.” Punk scoots closer to Shinsuke. Sheamus looks over at them, and then pointedly turns back to drinking. “Actually, Uncle Shinsuke, you can do me a favour. Go find out what’s wrong with Sheamus. He’s drinking and sulking.” Shinsuke sits up straight and salutes Punk.

About ten minutes later Shinsuke returns to his seat beside Punk, chasing the other Japanese teacher who’d been talking to Punk about his plans for the winter break.

“He says he’s thinking about what to sing.” Shinsuke’s report on what’s wrong with Sheamus is sorely lacking, but Punk decides it’s not worth arguing about. “I think he’s decided.” Over the karaoke speakers come the sounds of Walking in a Winter Wonderland. Sheamus takes a seat on the stool beside the old-style mic, and starts singing. He’s got a pretty good singing voice, deep and rich. His gaze never leaves Punk’s face as he sings.

“You wanna build a snowman, Cornflake?” Sheamus calls over to Punk when the song’s finished. Beside Punk, Shinsuke cracks up laughing, muttering under his breath about calling it Parson Brown.

“No. No I do not.” Punk gets to his feet, and pulls his coat on.

“You’re going home?” Finn sounds confused, and more than a little drunk.

“When Shinsuke starts making marriage jokes, it’s time to go home-“

“Stay one more song, Cornflake.” Sheamus slips from the stool, and stumbles over to Punk. Punk shakes his head, and winds his scarf around his neck.

“Nope. I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Punk heads for the door, and Sheamus squints at him as Punk waves goodbye.

“Wait!” Punk’s waiting for the elevator to get to the right floor, when Sheamus crashes into his back. He’s got one sleeve of his coat on, his scarf around his throat, and his hat in his teeth.

“I’ve no choice in the matter, Lucky Charms.” Punk helps Sheamus pull on his coat, and plucks Sheamus’ hat from between his teeth. “I’ll assume you’re planning on coming home with me?”

“That’d be the plan, yes. Any objections?” Sheamus pulls Punk into a tight hug from behind. Punk shrugs rather than answers, staring at their reflection in the aluminium elevator doors. “That a no?” The elevator arrives at their floor, and Punk walks forward, taking Sheamus with him.

“That’s a no.” Punk slips away from Sheamus’ hold, and greets the confused looking man operating the elevator. The Japanese man thankfully assumes that either Punk doesn’t speak Japanese, or doesn’t want to talk because he makes no attempts at conversation other than to ask what floor they want.

“Gimme my hat.” Is the first thing Sheamus says once they’re outside. Punk had forgotten that he’d stolen Sheamus’ hat, despite his carrying it in his hand.

“Nah.” Punk uses the karaoke bar’s window to make sure that the hat is on right, and smirks over at Sheamus. The big Irish man is staring at him. “You alright?” It’s difficult to tell if Sheamus is going to be sick when he’s been drinking, unlike most people Sheamus is already about as pale as a human can get, so the only clue is that he gets quiet when he’s not doing too well with his alcohol.

“I’m good.” Sheamus smiles. He sounds drunk, but not puking drunk, so that’s a relief. Punk doesn’t want to be stuck cleaning vomit out of the shower again. The last time he’d let Sheamus come back to his place drunk, the big man had decided he needed to shower, and then had realised that he needed to be sick more. Drunk Sheamus had just puked in the shower stall. Punk had been furious, but kind enough to neither mention it to nor make sober Sheamus clean it up. It seems unfair to hold the actions of drunk Sheamus against sober Sheamus, and at least Sheamus is usually a good drunk. There’s only been one occasion where he’s gotten drunk enough to declare the whole day a personal disaster, and sit on the stairs up to Punk’s apartment weeping.

“We’ll take a taxi.” Punk flags a cab over, and shoves Sheamus into the back of the cab. The driver looks back at him, and Punk rattles off his address. Sheamus moves closer to him, an arm wrapping around Punk’s shoulders, drawing him as close as Sheamus can.

“Can we have sex when we get home, Cornflake?” Sheamus starts slobbering on Punk’s neck, and the taxi driver looks scandalised. Punk apologises profusely once they get to his apartment complex, but doesn’t bother responding to Sheamus. The Irish man is too drunk to be of any use to anyone, himself included, when it comes to sex. The first thing Punk does when he gets into his apartment is grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Drink this.” Punk holds out a bottle of water to Sheamus, watching his lover wobble vaguely over to him, a goofy smile on his face.

“I’m not thirsty though.” Sheamus stops about a foot away from Punk, and reaches for him. “I’m more hungry if you know what I mean.”

“You don’t know what you mean.” Punk snaps, and shakes the bottle of water. “Drink it. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I could thank you now.” Sheamus laughs, manages to snag Punk’s wrist, and pulls him flush to Sheamus’ chest.

“Drink the water, Lucky Charms.” Punk doesn’t bother fighting as Sheamus drapes himself over Punk, his weight is almost too much, but it’s warm, and perfectly familiar, so it’s just right.

“Don’t want water, Cornflake.” Sheamus mutters. His breath is damp, and heavy with the very off-putting stench of sake. “Want you.” Sheamus starts pressing sloppy kisses to Punk’s neck.

“Drink your fucking water, and go to bed.” Punk snaps, and slips out from under Sheamus’ arms. The bigger man falls forward, but thankfully catches himself on the wall. “I’m gonna have a shower.” Punk mutters, turning away from Sheamus as he tries to coordinate himself enough to follow Punk.

“Shower sounds fun.” Sheamus catches up to him with annoying speed, and snags the bottom of Punk’s shirt, attempting to pull it over Punk’s head.

“God damn it! Sheamus!” Punk steps away from him, and levels him with a look that slowly chases the goofy smile from Sheamus’ lips and replaces it with imploring puppy eyes. “Drink the water I gave you, and go to bed. I’ll be five minutes in the bathroom, then we can go to sleep. How’s that sound?” Punk reaches out, and ruffles Sheamus’ hair, then trails his hand down Sheamus’ face, and draws him down to Punk’s level. “You’re too drunk to do anything useful, and I’m not in the mood to blow you without getting something out it. So, you’re not getting my ass tonight.” He presses a kiss to the tip of Sheamus’ nose, and laughs at the highly-offended expression that crosses Sheamus’ face.

“I’m not too drunk!” Sheamus straightens up to his full height, looming over Punk for a second before he wobbles slightly.

“Sure.” Punk shakes his head, and continues to the bathroom, then remembers that his glasses are in their case on his nightstand. Sheamus seems to have confused this detour to the bedroom with Punk changing his mind on them having sex tonight though, because he almost immediately plasters himself to Punk’s back, and shuffle walks them to the bed, where he gently pushes Punk down onto it. “Sheamus, let me up.” Punk sighs as Sheamus pins him down, and starts sliding his hands up under Punk’s shirt. “I’m gonna grab my glasses, then have a shower. Big Shea is too drunk for little Shea to be able to perform.”

“Big Shea isn’t that drunk!” Sheamus mutters, and rest back on his haunches. “You do need to take your contacts out though… Can’t fall asleep with them in.” Sheamus had clearly intended to tickle Punk’s ribs, but when drunk he forgets his strength, so his actions hurt a little more than it tickles.

“Get off me then.” Punk shoves at Sheamus’ thighs in annoyance, much to the Irish man’s seeming bewilderment. He stares down at Punk with big sad eyes. “You can shower with me, if you like.” Punk summons up the most alluring smile he can, and that seems to trick Sheamus somewhat. The big man gets off him, and tries to pull Punk to his feet. Once more he drunkenly misjudges his strength, but thankfully Punk’s apartment is small, so Sheamus only stumbles a little back and into the wall. “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll not be long.” Punk’s hoping that’ll trick Sheamus into staying put, but the big Irish man follows him to the bathroom, shedding his clothing as he goes. He takes a seat on the toilet lid whilst Punk takes out his contacts, and rinses them before storing them in their little case. By the time Punk turns around, Sheamus is slumped against the wall, fast asleep.

Once Punk’s done in the shower, he rouses Sheamus just enough to get him into bed, and is then trapped in a warm cage of Sheamus’ arms, legs, and soft, drunken snores.

In the morning, Punk slips from bed quietly, and heads to the kitchen after the bathroom. He’s glad to see that Sheamus had managed to puke in the toilet during his middle of the night puking session. He starts making breakfast as quietly as he can, hoping that the scent of cooking food doesn’t make Sheamus puke. There’s three kinds of morning after for Sheamus. One where he doesn’t remember a damn thing, and is in a wonderful mood. Another where he’s asleep until the afternoon. And the third where he’s rough, and cuddly, and wants nothing more than Punk to curl up on the couch with him. This morning it seems as though Sheamus is still feeling tender. He sits up slowly when Punk comes into the bedroom with a tray of food.

“How embarrassing was I last night?” Sheamus asks softly when Punk sets the tray down near him.

“No more than usual, Lucky Charms.” Punk smiles fondly, and perches on the end of the bed to start eating. “I’m sure Shinsuke or Finn have videos of you serenading me though.”

“Good serenading, or bad?” Sheamus groans, and starts eating delicately.

“Tolerable.” Punk smiles slightly. “You’ve a decent set of pipes on you.”

“Oh god... Winter wonderland…” Sheamus buries his face in his hands, and groans once more. “I’m never going to be able to listen to that song ever again… Did I propose we build Parson Brown?”

“Shinsuke named it, but you did invite me to build a snowman with you.” Punk laughs softly, and taps on Sheamus’ bowed head. “Eat your breakfast. You’ve all day to be embarrassed by your drunken self, but in all honesty, I’ve seen you worse, so don’t worry too much.”

“I should be teetotal like you, Cornflake.” Sheamus mutters, and starts eating mechanically.

“And deny me the opportunity to laugh at your drunken singing? That’d be rude to say the least.” Punk laughs. Once they’ve finished eating, Punk sends Sheamus off to the shower, whilst he does the washing up. With the breakfast dishes cleaned, Punk considers what to do next. Sheamus is just leaving the bathroom, a towel cast about his hips, and Punk’s mind makes itself up quickly. Sheamus had been all for sex last night, but undoubtedly unable to deliver, now though he can definitely perform. Punk trails along behind Sheamus to the bedroom, and unwinds the towel from his waist.

“You wanna…” Punk trails off, and takes a hold of Sheamus’ hand. He places it on his ass, and smirks up at Sheamus. The big man smiles fondly, and squeezes Punk’s ass.

“As I recall I’ve wanted to since last night, but someone decided I was too drunk.” Sheamus slips the boxers Punk’s wearing down, and pats his naked ass.

“Someone was too drunk, and someone else didn’t want to get stuck under a passed out drunk again.” Punk presses back against Sheamus’ hand, and reaches up for his face to drag him down for a kiss. “You prep you, and I’ll prep me.” Punk slips away from Sheamus, and grabs the lube from the nightstand. Sheamus settles on the bed, and starts stroking his cock lazily. His gaze is riveted to where Punk’s slicked finger has penetrated his asshole.

“Another finger, Punk… You can take it.” Sheamus directs him with a soft commanding tone, and as much as Punk usually bristles at being told what to do, he’s powerless when it comes to that tone. He’s done some truly filthy things because Sheamus’ has told him to in that voice. “You ready?” Sheamus asks once Punk’s working three fingers inside of himself.

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure I was ready after two.” Punk wipes his fingers on the discarded towel, and gets on the bed, straddling Sheamus’ thick thighs. “You all lubed up?” Punk asks, and then slowly slides down Sheamus’ cock, biting his lip to keep the noise down. Sheamus trails a hand up his chest, and rubs his thumb over Punk’s lips.

“Lemme hear you.” He murmurs. Punk shakes his head, and glances up at his ceiling. His neighbours don’t need to hear him screaming and hollering about how good his man’s cock feels in his ass. “Lemme hear a little at least.” Sheamus catches Punk’s shoulders, and pulls him down so that his chest is flush with Sheamus’ own. He withdraws from Punk’s ass, and rolls them over, then eases back into Punk, making him gasp quietly. “There. That’s better.” Sheamus whispers in Punk’s ear, and starts moving slow and careful. His hips moving back a little, and then driving forward with slow steady determination. Punk keeps trying to keep his noises to himself, but even when hungover, Sheamus knows how to draw soft moans and quiet gasps from Punk easily. Punk’s heels dig into the Sheamus’ back, pulling him into each gentle thrust far more firmly, making his cock rub against their stomachs. Sheamus speeds up a little, his cock moving a little faster, his hips driving down into Punk a little more firmly. “Touch yourself for me.” Sheamus mutters into Punk’s ear, and Punk takes a hold of his cock, stroking himself faster and harder than Sheamus is taking him.

“Gonna cum.” Punk feels close, his body feels almost ready for his climax. Sheamus starts nibbling at Punk’s throat, and that’s all the trigger Punk needs. His hand milks his cum from himself. His body trembles as he reaches his crescendo, his pleasure reducing his mind to a quiet hum. Sheamus speeds up within him, faster, harder, until his hips are forcefully driving his cum deep inside Punk’s ass. Sheamus pulls out of Punk eventually, and then flops onto his back. Punk lies staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before turning and settling against Sheamus’ chest. “Merry Christmas.”

“That’s my present isn’t it, you cheapskate?” Sheamus presses a kiss to Punk’s hair as he laughs, and agrees that yes, he’s a cheapskate, and yes that was Sheamus’ present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	12. Please Come Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12th - Please Come Home for Christmas- Roman's reign as king is off to a shaky start, rumblings from the south of an old god walking the land once more, and news just as bad from the north regarding a wakening sorceress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Het (Roman Reigns/Charlotte Flair) Fantasy AU.

He’s pacing. It’s not becoming for a king, but there’s nothing else to be done. He’s heard rumblings from the south. Rumours that there’s been movement in places he doesn’t want any. The last thing he wants is a revival in his reign. His uncle had one, and he doesn’t want one in his. The last thing anyone needs is that damned _saint_ trying to restore himself into any kind of power. Putting the saint down had taken years from his uncle’s life, and Roman is under no illusion that it wouldn’t do the same to him. He’s not his uncle, and he doesn’t have the same appeal to the masses. His reign wouldn’t survive the way his uncle’s did.

“Sire.” From the doorway one of his advisers speaks. He glances over, and continues pacing. “There’s been word that you need to go north.” Roman stops in his pacing, and stares at Jimmy. “The Ice Queen’s tomb has… _cracked_.”

“Cracked.” Roman sits heavily on the throne, and stares at his cousin. Jimmy nods once, and comes into the throne room.

“We’ve had guards stationed there for as long as anyone can remember, and there’s been no changes until now.” Jimmy rubs the back of his neck nervously, and fidgets under Roman’s blank gaze.

“Ready a travel party. I will attend the tomb myself.”

The journey to the north was a lot longer than Roman wanted it to be. There’s been more rumblings in the south, more word of the saint from one of the little towns clinging to the Rattlesnake mountains, but now that he’s so far north there’s little he can do but hope that the rumblings stay as just that. The last thing he needs is a resurrected old god making trouble when there’s potentially a thawing old sorceress to deal with in the north. The guards on the other three tombs have been told to step up their watches, and report any changes immediately. The only thing that would be worse than the saint trying to reassert himself would be for him to be doing it when the Four Horsewomen were also preparing for war.

The Four Horsewomen were four great sorceresses of old. Their story has passed into the realm of myth, but as king Roman knows the truth of the war the four witches waged against each other. A thousand years ago, they were bound to their tombs. Becky, the Fire Queen in the south. Bayley the Earth Queen to the West. Sasha, the Air Queen to the East. And in the north, Charlotte, the Ice Queen.

The legends tell that Charlotte could seduce a man with a single glance, that she was born from the old god of nature, Flair, and like her father she was a creature of chaos and deceit. Tales of her treachery and lies are told as warnings to children to keep them from playing too long in the snow. Roman can only hope that this reported crack is a lie, and that the Ice Queen isn’t preparing to rouse from her slumber.

The Ice Queen’s tomb is vast. A horribly beautiful structure of jutting spires, and glitteringly icy minarets. At the entrance to it stands Jey. He adjusts his uniform, and gives Roman a tight smile.

“It’s getting worse.” He gestures towards the sheet of ice covering the door to the tomb. “It started as a small crack, and then this morning a chunk fell out.” As he speaks, another shard of ice flakes off from the sheet, and shatters into a million pieces on the steps behind Jey.

“What should…” Roman trails off, and sighs. “I should go in.” He shakes his head, and stands up straight. “If she is waking, someone needs to persuade her to go back to sleep.”

“I…” Jey sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. “That’s a bad idea, my liege.” Roman nods absently at his words, and sighs.

“What else is there to do?” Another shard of ice breaks off shatters. “She is awakened, and must be dealt with.”

It takes maybe an hour for enough ice to break off from the doorway for Roman to enter the tomb. His advisers seem horribly against the idea, and he understands, but it must be done. If he’s learned nothing from the legends, its that the Ice Queen will not be ignored, so she must be dealt with quickly. The saint will keep, and hopefully the other Queens are content in their slumber.

Roman approaches the monstrously large icy shards that encase the Ice Queen. Unholy purple flames in icy braziers offer the only light in the tomb. He can hear muted murmurings from his guards stationed at the doorway. Their words seem especially quiet in the still of the Ice Queen’s tomb. He steps closer yet, and behind him there’s an almighty crash. A single icicle has fallen, blocking the exit.

“You’re not the king I was expecting.” The voice that comes to him is soft, like fresh fallen snow. He turns to face the Ice Queen in all her splendour. Her robes seem to be formed entirely from ice, glittering and resplendent. “I imagine I’ve slept far longer than I’d intended.” She smiles at him, a smile as dazzling as the sun on a snowbank.

“A thousand years or more, my lady.” Roman without thought falls to a knee, bowing his head in awe at the woman before him. To call her a mere woman seems insufficient though. She is the Ice Queen. She is a goddess. She is one far beyond mere mortal men, and in her presence, there is no denying that.

“Raise, King Reigns, raise. Let me see the man whose troubles have roused me from my sleep.” Her staff presses under his chin, raising his chin that he may gaze upon her.

“My troubles, my lady?” Roman meets her eyes nervously, and the moment he looks into the cool blue depths of her gaze, he finds a strange peace within himself. She is the one who will secure his legacy. She is the one who will guide his reign to be better than his uncle. With her at his side nothing shall cloud the peace of his kingdom.

“Our troubles, King.” She smiles at him, and the serenity within him flourishes. He feels as calm and peaceful as a snow-covered pasture. “Come. Let’s go home.” He offers her his arm, and his heart thrills when she takes it.

“Of course, my Queen.” He reverently bows his head as he speaks, and the Ice Queen laughs softly. Once more his heart thrills. “My lady?” She glances at him, her glorious smile on her lips. “Your hand. I ask most humbly for it.” The Ice Queen laughs softly, and offers him her hand.

“I would offer nothing less.” She smiles, and Roman hopes that his advisers will understand the need for expediency when they get home. He must wed the Ice Queen as soon as he is able. He must make her his queen, and then all will be well in his kingdom. She will see to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Ms.NoGimmicksNeeded.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	13. Deck The Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13th - Deck The Halls - Whilst rainding a tomb, Dean meets a strange woman with a tempting offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Het (Dean Ambrose/Becky Lynch) Fantasy AU.

The south of the kingdom of is an awkward mess of tall mountains, vast desert, and people. People crammed into the few places that aren’t too sandy, snowy, or steep to live. Dean’s lived his entire life in the south. A life that by most standards hasn’t been pleasant, but by his own, not too bad. He’d grown up in the only city of any note. He’d learned to be fast, charming, and cunning in the dusty streets of the city. As a child, he’d taken up with a group of pickpockets, and then he’d grown into being part of a band of tomb-raiders. The old kings are all buried in vast underground tombs in the desert, and there’s plenty of money to be made from looting their final resting places.

A few days ago, Dean had been sent out to check on a new discovered tomb, and to stake a claim on it for his gang. It’d taken him twice as long as he’d planned to get there, and now that he’s arrived, he wants to be gone again. The door to the crypt is engraved with flames, and there’s a strange weight to the air inside. Almost as though the air is expecting trouble, but he diligently creeps into the tomb, and starts looting the treasure.

“You might want to put that back.” A woman’s voice jolts Dean from his work of emptying the tomb. He turns to face her, and sees a slender woman dressed in typical desert-dweller clothes, her entire body covered in thick cloth, and goggles on her eyes.

“Why? Cause you saw it first. C’mon lady. You look like you’re doing fine.” Dean waves her off, and keeps loading the gold coins into his satchel.

“Don’t you know what this place is?” The woman’s suddenly closer, her hand resting on his arm. Dean shakes her hand off, and shakes his head.

“Some dead, rich guys tomb. So, it doesn’t matter if I take it because he’s dead, and I still need to eat.” Dean slips more coins into his bag, and looks over at the woman. “What are you doing here? You the guardian or something?”

“You could say that.” The woman mutters, and keeps following Dean deeper into the tomb. Dean glances over his shoulder to the woman still following him. She's walking slowly, casting her head from side to side like she was trying to take the entire tomb in at once.

“Why are you following me?” Dean stopped walking, turned to glare at her and crossed his arms over his chest. She took one more step and then froze.

“I don't know that I am.” She laughs, and then starts prodding at a wall, muttering about a catch. “There.” She steps away from the wall as it starts making a strange rumbling sound. The wall slides down, and the woman steps into the newly revealed room. “I reckon you'll be following me now.” She chuckles, and Dean starts to chase after her. “Don't touch any of this stuff. It's worthless. The real treasure isn’t here.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dean catches the woman's arm and stops her from walking further. “Who are you, and how did you know about that wall?” There's a rumble. Then the sound of claws on stone. Dean’s thrown away from the woman, and collides with a wall. “A dragon.” He whispers staring in awe at the beast that's gently nuzzling the woman's side. “Who are you?” Dean springs to his feet once more, glaring at the woman. She knows something about this place, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Do you know where you are?” The woman asks him softly. Dean glances around the room and is filled with dread. The walls are gleaming gold, spindly spires of deep red reach for the vaulted roof, which is heavily inlayed with precious stones. Huge braziers fill the room with light that dances off the vast piles of gleaming gold coins.

“The tomb of the Fire Queen.” There's no denying the fact that he's standing in the tomb of the Fire Queen of the South. The woman laughs softly and nods.

“I prefer Becky actually.” She laughs gleefully, and rubs the dragon’s muzzle.

“There's no way you're the Fire Queen.” Dean shakes his head at her. There's no way this desert woman is one of the sorceresses of legend. She looks like a normal desert nomad, not at all like a woman born of The Sun and very fires of the earth. There’s no way _she_ can be the daughter of an old god, and certainly not the old god bound by the fires of the depths of the earth. The daughter of Ole would be more than this mere desert rat.

“I am.” The woman laughs, and scratches the dragon's head. “You don't believe me?” She laughs again, and turns to Dean.

“Why would I?” Dean scowls at the woman, and rests his hand on the hilt of the dagger at his hip. “You're just a desert rat like me. Just because you know how to break into the Fire Queen's tomb doesn't mean you're her.” The woman pats the dragon on the nose, and starts climbing the steps behind her. At the top of the steps is a dais that seems to be made entirely of flame red rubies. As she climbs the woman's desert robes catch aflame. They burn up to soot that drifts away in a breeze Dean can't feel. He turns away to save the women's modesty. As long as it's been since he last saw a naked lady, he doesn't want to be staring at dying woman's cooking body. He expects to hear her screams, but instead there's the sound of her laughing. He looks up and sees her standing at the stop of the stairs, her head wrap still in place.

“You really don’t believe me?” She starts to unwind the fabric from around her head. She tosses the heavy fabric at Dean, and shakes her head. Her mane of flame coloured hair looks alive in the firelight. “What will it take for you to believe that you stand before the Fire Queen? Do you want me to summon another dragon? An ifirt perhaps? Or maybe this…” She waves her hand, and the gold coins melt. The molten gold flows around Dean, and pools in front of him. “I’m in the market for a bodyguard, desert rat.” The Fire Queen walks down the steps once more, and stops on the other side of the swirling pool of gold. “I always hear that we southerners like two things, a good story, and gold. Agree to serve me, and I can promise you both.” She smiles at Dean, and then follows where he’s staring. She’s yet to replace her clothes, and her body is very pleasing to the eye. She barks a laugh when she realises he’s staring at her bosom. “Focus.” She snaps her fingers, and grins at Dean when his eyes snap up to her’s.

“Put something on, and I’ll focus all you want.” Dean scoffs, and turns his gaze to the dragon. The beast snorts at him, and lets out a puff of smoke. The Fire Queen laughs, and the gold leaps up to her. When it settles back into its swirling pool, Becky is clad is surprisingly sensible armour, desert-dwellers googles pinning her hair back from her impishly smiling face. “So, bodyguard? Me? I don’t think I’m the bodyguard type, your Burny-ness. I’m more of a scavenger. You’d be better off looking for someone in the city.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, and forces his best winning smile to his lips. He’s heard the legends of the Four Horsewomen. He’s heard how the stories always end for the mortal men that get pressed into their service, and Dean is rather fond of being alive.

“Ah, but if I had to look for my bodyguard, it wouldn’t be him I wanted, and Becky is fine.” Becky grins once more, and waves her hand over the pool of gold. “This,” she reaches into the molten pool, and pulls a sword from it, “would be yours, if only you’d agree to wield it in my name.” She smiles brightly, and flips the sword so the hilt is pointing towards Dean.

“If I refuse?” He can’t help but stare at the sword. The hilt seems to be calling to him to take it, and he’s finding it harder and harder to resist.

“I let you leave.” Becky laughs, and the dragon snorts. “Sheamus might have other thoughts on the matter, but I’d let you go.” Dean looks over at the dragon, and the beast stomps a single foot. The ground beneath its claws split, and the cracks run straight to where Dean’s standing. “Do not feel pressurised by us. This is your fate, Dean. From the moment, you were left on the steps of my father’s shrine by your mother, right up until the moment the gang leader sent you out to explore the new uncovered tomb entrance, your life has been leading to this moment.” She smiles sadly at him. “Fate is a far crueller mistress than me. I will ask no more of you than you can give, and will give no more than you can take. The other Horsewomen are awakening, and I fear that our brother has risen once more.”

“Brother?” Dean stares at the Fire Queen in awed silence. He’s told no one of his abandonment at the shrine of Ole as a child, and for her to recant a moment of his life so secret so causally is at once comforting and disquieting.

“The old gods bore four daughters. The sorceresses of the elements. The Four Horsewomen.” Becky waves her hand over the gold, and it forms into tiny sculptures of the four old gods. “That is the story as it is told, isn’t it? Four old gods, four sorceresses.” Dean nods dumbly staring at the small pool of gold that remains not part of the little eight statues, a small pool that is growing darker and darker. “There were five gods.” Becky stares down at the darkened pool. “A god none of the other gods trusted. A god that wasn’t part of them… Not even part of The Fates plan.” A figure forms from the blackened gold, and reaches for the feet of the hovering golden statues of the old gods and the Horsewomen. It snatches one of them, and pulls her down, a taint of black creeping into the gleaming gold of the statue. “The Ice Queen fell first to him. Then the others, and watch was all the old gods could do. Until one day…” From somewhere behind Dean another trickle of gold comes rushing forth. It forms into the new god. The god all churches are dedicated to. “The new god told the dark god that he could have a child, and that child would join the battle against the Horsewomen. If he won, then the Horsewomen would be sealed for a thousand years, and so the Saint was born.” The little Horsewomen statues pause in their battle with each other for a moment to watch another statue pull itself from the dark pool, but the dark statue does nothing, and the little Horsewomen keep battling. “One by one each of the sorceresses fell to the Ice Queen, and when it looked like she’d claim dominion over the mortals, the Saint stabbed her in the back.” The little statues act out the story as Becky tells it. The new god statue approaches the statue of the Saint, and seems to hesitate. “The new god didn’t trust the old gods, and he certainly didn’t trust the uninvited god or his child, so the new god bound the old gods to shrines, banished the uninvited god, and stripped immortality from the Saint.” The uninvited god statue waves its little hands at its child, and a strange glow surrounds the Saint’s figure. “The uninvited god gave the Saint a gift. The power to be reborn as he was to beat the new god, and restore the old gods to their rightful place.”

“Why?” Dean cuts in, staring at the little figurines on the floor. “Why would the uninvited god want the old gods back?” Becky laughs softly, and shakes her head.

“The enemy of your enemy is your friend. The new god had chased the uninvited god for eternity, and now the uninvited god means to put an end to the new god. The Saint is amongst you once more, and our thousand years are long up. This will be a battle to determine everything, and nothing really. For you mortals naught will change, but for me and my sisters, everything could change. It would be a chance for redemption from the taint of the uninvited god. If we can persuade the Saint to side with us, he could restore us, and in doing so restore all that our battles destroyed.” Becky takes a hold of the golden sword once more. “So, I ask you again. Will you join me, and wield my blade?” Dean thinks for a moment. In a brief second, he considers the fate of the immortal sorceress before him, and of her sisters, the Horsewomen, he thinks of the old gods, and of the Saint, and all the lives that would be lost if the Saint starts another uprising that fails like the last ones. His hand closes around the hilt, and he smiles at the Fire Queen.

“I want a suit of armour too, by the way.” His sentence is barely finished before the molten gold encases him in a gleaming armour of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by cheryl24.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	14. A Christmas Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14th- A Christmas Duel - As the guardian of the Air Queen's tomb, Seth is failing at his one major task - making sure she stays asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Het (Sasha Banks/Seth Rollins) Fantasy AU.

The tomb of the Air Queen is unavoidable. It floats over the main city in the east of the kingdom. A vast floating rock suspended over the white, squat, rounded buildings that make up the city. It’s an unavoidable, though often unmentioned focal point of the city’s architecture. Its beauty is barely even acknowledged. The people of the East hardly dare to whisper the name of the sorceress that lies sleeping deep within the floating tomb. The name Sasha is uttered solely as a curse for any misfortune that befalls the delicately birdlike people of the East. Unlike the sturdy people of the north, or the lithe folk of the south, or short and solid souls of the west, Eastern people are slender and frail. Their bodies well suited to their homes floating amongst the clouds on the stones cursed, or blessed, by the Air Queen to hover high in the skies.

In his youth, Seth had been selected to serve as the next attendant to the floating tomb. He’d studied hard beneath his master, and upon his passing back into the skies, Seth had taken over ensuring that the Air Queen remained asleep. Most of his time is spent pouring over records and spell tomes to ensure that the floating islands remain in the skies. Important, but boring work. He’s been the sole guardian of the tomb for the last three years. He misses having company, but it could be worse. Occasionally the serpent dragon will stop in to talk with him, and Randy is pleasant enough. Cold and distant, but that’s to be expected. Dragons live a long time, so there’s no real reason for him to be overly friendly with mortals like Seth.

Seth was busy with ensure the spells were holding when he heard a creak. He turns to look at the only door nearby, the door that leads to the Air Queen’s tomb. It’s cracked open, a tiny sliver of light spewing from the gap. He pulls the door closed, and returns to his work. Over the course of the day, Seth keeps glancing over at the door, half expecting it to be open once more, but thankfully it’s closed. Until just as he’s getting ready for bed, the tomb door creaks open again. Seth approaches it, and grabs the handle, pulling the door closed once more before he heads to bed, trying to put the strange occurrence out of his mind.

He’s been asleep for a few hours when he’s awoken by a loud crashing sound. He scrambles from bed, and pulls on a house robe. The tomb door is flung open, and there’s a blaze of vibrant light spilling out from the tomb.

“Guardian!” A sharp female voice calls out, and Seth grabs his spear before reluctantly approaching the open tomb door. “Guardian! Where are you?” He peeks into the tomb, and stares. Inside the tomb should be nothing but the still form of the Air Queen, lying in her bound slumber. Instead she’s sitting on the edge of the dais, scowling straight at him. “There you are. Come. We have work to do.”

“I’m not getting involved in whatever the hell it is you’re planning.” Seth folds his arms, and scowls at the Air Queen. He’s supposed to ensure that she stays asleep, and that balance is maintained. She’s going back to sleep, and so is he. Sasha scowls and folds her arms back.

“You have no choice.” Sasha narrows her eyes, and smirks at him. “You are my servant, and you _will_ serve me.” Seth rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.

“You’re bound here. You have no work to do, and my work is done in the light of day. I’m going back to bed.” He turns and starts walking away from the small sorceress.

“You’re going nowhere.” A gust of wind rushes past him, and slams the doors to the chamber shut. “You are _destined_ to serve me, and there’s no escaping destiny.” The Air Queen materialises in front of Seth, a sharp smile on her face. “You were sent here for a reason, and that reason is to do my bidding. There is danger coming. An uprising will overcome your King, and war will come over this land.”

“Look, I don’t know what you think is going on, but there’s no uprising, there’s no coming war, and there’s no reason for you to be awake. So, toddle along back to bed, and we mortals will take care of our own business. The time for you _Queens_ is long past.” The Air Queen laughs, and shakes her head.

“You have no idea what’s going on, boy.” She waves a hand, and in the air a vision forms. “Do you know where that is?” The capital of the Kingdom shimmers in the air before Seth. “Do you see the castle? Was there always a big icy tower attached to the side? No?” Seth shakes his head, staring at the vision in front of him. “No. I didn’t think so. So, unless you want my sister, the Ice Queen, to rule you stupid mortals, you’re going to help me put her down, once and for all.” Seth stares at the vision, at the icy tower protruding from the north of the King’s castle.

“How…” He starts, then clears his throat and waves his hand through the vision. “How do I know that this is real, and not just you trying to manipulate me into letting you out of here?”

“What?” The Air Queen snaps, and a gust of wind shoves Seth to his ass. “How dare you accuse me of that? I am your Queen! I am doing what is best for you! You stupid child.” The Air Queen sighs, and offers Seth a hand. He stares at her warily, and she sighs once more, letting her hand fall limp. “I’ve no reason to lie. I’m no longer bound here, because my sisters are awake.” She waves her hand again, and this time the sands of the south appear before her. In the vision a young man wearing bright golden armour is standing beside an impossibly beautiful flame haired woman also dressed in gleaming gold armour. The woman is pointing at a map, and the young man’s hand tightens on the hilt of the sword strapped at his hip. A second vision forms in place of that one. A vision of a huge tree with a door on it, and in the clearing in front of the door an army of children have forced a dragon to its back. The dragon is emitting smoke and sparks, and a young man dressed in sturdy leather armour is standing watching the whole scene in bewilderment. The Air Queen looks briefly puzzled by this vision, and waves it away dismissively.

“What was that?” Seth gets to his feet, watching the Air Queen carefully. She looks troubled, biting her bottom lip, and drumming her fingers on her arm.

“My sisters… Well, their tombs. Bayley wasn’t there, but. No, it doesn’t matter.” Sasha shakes her head again, and levels Seth with a harsh look. “See. They’re all awake, so you need to follow your destiny, and help your Queen like a good boy.”

“Who was the man in gold with the Fire Queen? And those children attacking that dragon?” Seth takes a step back, and starts pacing. He always thinks better when in motion.

“The man in gold? Becky’s champion.” Sasha heads back towards the dais she’d been sitting on when Seth had first entered the tomb, and sits on it once more. “Our fathers’ gave us two gifts when we were born. One a dragon.” She gestures towards the open ceiling, and over head the great serpent dragon of the east, Randy, passes over head. “And two, a champion.” She waves her hand again, and before Seth form three visions of three men. One the King, clad in jet black armour, wielding a sword that looks to be made of ice. The next the man in gold armour, a rakish smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. And the last man is the one from the vision with the dragon, he looks troubled, but calm, like whatever is troubling him he believes he can overcome. “One. Two. Three.” Sasha points a delicate finger at Seth with a sly smirk. “And four.”

“I’m no champion. I’m a scholar, and a guardian. Neither of these make me _champion_ material.” Seth grabs his spear, and rests the end of it on the ground. “I’m not the one who’s supposed to your champion. It’s gotta be someone else, because I’m not qualified.”

“You’re here, you know the lore, you’ve got the spear. You’re the champion, Sethie.” Sasha materialises in front of Seth and smiles at him. “You’ll do just fine. Don’t worry. Fate never gives us more than we can handle. Now, we’ve got work to do. Charlotte needs to be stopped, and we need to find out what the hell my brother’s dragon was doing at Bayley’s tomb… Get ready, we’re going west.” Sasha whistles, and the serpent dragon slithers into the tomb. “Randy, we’re leaving.” The dragon nods, and Seth has the feeling he doesn’t have a choice in this matter. The Air Queen looks determined, and Seth thinks that means that his fate is determined too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	15. Stop the Calvary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15th- Stop the Calvary - The Earth Queen is unlike her sisters. She hasn't been lying asleep in a tomb, rather she served as the Lady of the Forest, and Finn serves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Het (Finn Bálor/Bayley) Fantasy AU.

At the age of five, Finn made a poor decision. He’d been out collecting sticks to act as kindling for his family’s fire, when he’d found a man lying on the ground. Although he was young, Finn had been raised to be a kind child. His mother had told him stories of the Lady of the Forest, the loving Earth Queen that ensured the bounty of the West. Her sweetness coloured every action Finn took even from such a young age. So, when he’d happened upon the man, Finn had asked if he could be of any assistance. The man had laughed, a low, deep, guttural sound that chilled young Finn to the core. Then his hand had shot out, and grasped Finn by the shirt collar.

“Take it from me.” The man had pleaded. “Take it from me, and let me be free.” Young Finn hadn’t known then what the man spoke of, and without thought, knowing that the Earth Queen would do so, Finn had agreed to take _it_ from the man.

This was how Finn, at the tender age of five, had come to be the host of a demon. Bálor had lived amongst humans for many centuries, but had never been bound to one so young, or so pure. The demon had raged against Finn’s sweet nature, but Finn had been valiant in his commitment to the teachings of the Earth Queen. Love first. The only teaching of any import is that. The churches of the new god taught many other rules, but Finn’s family followed the old ways. Love first. It was with that commandment in mind that had led to Finn’s parents swearing him to the service of the Lady of the Forest at the age of ten. Five years of young Finn struggling with the demon had ravaged him, and his family. Taking him to the great tree had been their last hope, but one that was not in vain. The very moment young Finn’s gaze rested on the Lady of the Forest he was filled with a tranqulity he hadn’t known in five years. In the presence of Lady Bayley even Bálor had was moved to peace. So, Finn was commissioned to serve the Lady of the Forest, and he has done so ever since. Now fifteen years later, Finn serves as Lady Bayley’s guardian. He is her first, and last line of defence. He is her sword and her shield. Her loyalist, most faithful, and most beloved servant.

“Finn! Finn! Wake up!” The loud call of one of the children jolts the guardian of the Earth Queen from his nap. Finn sits up groggily, and rubs at his eyes as a small bundle of energy flings itself at him. He catches the child easily, and gets to his feet.

“Why are you coming charging in here with so much noise and fuss, hmm? What if Our Lady had been sleeping? What then?” Finn sets the child on his feet, and ruffles his hair.

“A dragon’s here!” The little boy bounces excitedly from foot to foot, and stares up at Finn.

“Why are you so excited by old Wade? He’s always here.” Finn smothers a yawn behind his hand, and shakes his head. Lady Bayley’s pet dragon is often coming and going. There’s no need for this child to be so excited over him.

“Not Wade! A _different_ dragon!” The little boy starts tugging on Finn’s hand, trying to drag him to the doorway. “Come and see!”

“Alright, alright.” Finn lets the small boy pull him along, and out into the clearing before the Earth Queen’s _tomb_. In the clearing is a large, deep blue dragon. It regards Finn with a rather genial look in its eyes.

“A possessed? And I thought mine was the stupidest.” The dragon sighs, and a puff of multi-coloured smoke emits from its nostrils. The gathered children giggle and start chasing at the brightly coloured smoke. The dragon puffs again, and the children seem even more delighted with the billowing, colourful smoke.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Dragon. But who are you, and who do you serve?” Finn steps closer watching the children playing in the smoke the dragon is emitting, an oddly gleeful expression on its scaled face. He doesn’t recognise this dragon, although Finn has yet to meet the dragon that serves the Ice Queen. The dragons of the Air and Fire Queens are occasional visitors, and ones Finn almost enjoys, Sheamus more so than Randy, but the serpent dragon does have his moments of being entertaining.

“I’m here to deliver a message to your mistress.” The dragon turns his great head to Finn and seems to smile. “She’s always the most reasonable of those four. And maker knows that they’re all more reasonable than my charge.” The dragon laughs, and thumps its tail on the ground, sending a shower of flower petals into the air.

“You serve the Saint then.” The dragon of the Four Horsewomen’s brother is who this must be, and Finn is not pleased to see it. If the Saint is awakened once more then, there is chaos afoot. The Lady of the Forest does not need to embroiled with the chaos of the Saint and his damned-fool mission. Finn folds his arms as a scowl forms on his face, and the dragon rolls its eyes.

“Serve is being generous really. It’s more like endure because any other dragon would have eaten him by now.” The dragon laughs, and a few brightly coloured sparks shoot from its maw. The children seem at once delighted and slightly startled by that. One particularly brave little girl creeps up the dragon and pats it on the nose. “That tickles.” The dragon blows a raspberry at the girl, filling the clearing with harmless brightly coloured sparks and another rainbow of smoke. “If you must tickle me, I do prefer to be tickled on the belly.” The dragon rolls over, and the children as one start to tickle it. Finn stares at the scene in shook. Wade would never allow the children to treat him as an overgrown dog like this. It flies in the face of all he’s heard of the Saint, and consequently his dragon. The Saint is driven by his mad plan, and his dragon serves as his faithful weapon. A weapon should not be acting like a giant puppy much to the delight of children.

“What are you doing?” The Earth Queen’s dragon’s voice is at once amused and annoyed as he appears from nowhere in particular. Finn has never fully understood how dragons work. They seem to follow very different rules to all other creatures he’s ever encountered. Even Bálor is confused by them, the demon’s hackles are always raised when Wade is near, although it seems unconcerned with the new dragon, but really Finn can’t blame his demon for its lack of concern. If this is the best weapon the Saint has, there may not be any need to fear the chaos.

“Being nice to the children.” The blue dragon turns to its feet once more, and bows its head to Wade slightly.

“You’re supposed to terrifying. The cursed steed of the Saint should be eating children, not getting belly rubs from them.” Wade snaps at one of the children closest to him, and laughs when the little boy hides behind the blue dragon’s wing. “I always thought you made the poorest of choices… You and Lady Bayley would get along so much better.”

“Meh.” The blue dragon flaps its wings to clear the smoke, and settles on its haunches. “Is the Lady awake? I imagine she is… All the others are, and she always was very bad at being _bound_.”

“Colt!” The Earth Queen rushes past Finn, and throws herself at the sitting dragon. “How nice to see you!” Bayley wraps her arms around the blue dragon, and starts talking far more quickly than Finn can hear. He gestures to the children, sending them off to play with the other adults at the tomb.

“Perhaps we should include your possessed in this conversation.” The blue dragon says once the last child has wandered off. Bayley slips her arms from around the blue dragon’s neck, and nods.

“Hmm, good call. This is important, and Finn needs to be in on this. Will you come inside?” She gestures to the door of her tomb.

“I don’t think that-“ Before Finn can finish his sentence smoke fills the clearing. A column of red smoke, and one of blue. As the smoke clears two men are in the place of the two dragons. One dressed in red, and with a beard that reminds Finn of the odd way Wade’s scales are darker around his muzzle, the other dressed in a heavy blue travel cloak, wearing the genial grin of the blue dragon.

“He doesn’t know that dragons aren’t always dragons.” Wade laughs, and punches Colt on the shoulder.

“Apparently not. You look well, brother.” Colt claps Wade on the shoulder, gestures towards the doorway. “After you.”

“Of course, of course after me.” Wade leads the way inside the tomb, Colt following along behind him.

“My Lady, shall I stand guard, or…” Finn trails off as Bayley smiles at him.

“C’mon. You need to hear what Colt has to say. He’ll have news from my brother, and more than likely from my sisters too.” Bayley smiles cheerfully at Finn, and takes his hand. “I think that it’ll be bad news… I’ve heard what the wind had to say.” Bayley says softly as they wander through the chambers inside the great tree.

“Word from Lady Sasha?” Finn asks softly, squeezing his Queen’s hand gently. Bayley nods slightly, a worried frown forming on her face. “The breeze didn’t have sweet words for you, my Lady?”

“It was less a breeze, and more a gale.” Bayley smiles tightly, and releases Finn’s hand. As she enters the central chamber her simple robes shimmer and morph. In place of sensible woollen robes, an elegant robe of glistening gossamer forms, Bayley’s normal ponytail is engulfed in whipping tendrils anointed with delicate dew drops. In place of Finn’s sweet Lady Bayley stands the Earth Queen, resplendent and terrible.

“Really?” Colt sighs, and his sensible travel robe shifts into a far more formal uniform of deep blue, Wade’s own normal attire takes on something of a more military quality. “Formal enough?” Colt asks, and the Earth Queen bows her head slightly, and takes a seat on her throne.

“You bring news from my kin. Share.” The Earth Queen regards Colt coolly, and the dragon rolls his shoulders.

“The Ice Queen has claimed the northern palace and the King as her own. Their wedding was lovely, though the cake had too many raisins for my liking.” Colt waves his hand, and a plate of cake materialises in front of the Earth Queen.

“I will consider sampling it later. My other sisters?” The Earth Queen dismisses the cake to somewhere else. Finn fidgets nervously, and hopes for this to be over with quickly. It always troubles him to see Bayley in this form, her _true_ form doesn’t seem like the sweet Lady of the Forest he knows and loves.

“Well… Lady Becky is readying an army in the south. Her champion is restored to her, and she plans her assault against the capital as we speak. Lady Sasha, is on her way. I imagine she’ll be arriving shortly.” Colt shrugs as the Earth Queen nods thoughtfully.

“Sasha will be coming to discuss what we plan to do about Charlotte no doubt.” The Earth Queen considers Colt carefully, clearly watching for any signs of something other than the vaguely cheerful nonchalance the dragon seems to exude. “And of our brother? What does he mean to do?”

“Who knows.” The dragon laughs, and shakes his head. “A thousand years, you Horsewomen have been sleeping, well mostly sleeping Earth Queen.” The dragon smirks, and the Earth Queen narrows her eyes at him. Unlike her sisters, the Earth Queen’s slumber was not total. The true strength of her power slept, but the Lady of the Forest remained awake and active, a witch rather than the sorceress she truly is. “And a thousand years, he’s been… Well, you know how he is… Chaos generally doesn’t have plans.”

“You lie poorly, dragon.” The Earth Queen drums her fingers on the arm of her throne. “The Saint has plans.”

“Don’t we all.” Colt rolls his eyes, and smiles kindly at the Earth Queen. “I really do hate dealing with you lot when you get all _godly_ … It’s boring as hell.”

“Show some respect!” Wade reaches out to cuff Colt on the back of the head, but the genial dragon merely looks at him, and Wade’s hand falls to his side. “I…it is a curtesy I would show the Saint.”

“It’s one that would be lost on that moron.” Colt says dryly. “I’m here for one reason, Earth Queen, and that is to know what you mean to do.”

“Why would you need to know such a thing? If you have grown so bored as to dismiss the Saint as a fool, why would _my_ plans matter?” The Earth Queen raises an eyebrow and considers Colt more carefully. “I called you a poor liar, dragon, but I fear I was wrong to have underestimated you… A thousand years is a long time.”

“That it is, Earth Queen, that it is.” Colt smiles genially once more, but this time Finn pays more attention to the look in the dragon’s eye. Beneath the thick friendly veneer there is contempt and annoyance. The dragon has somewhere to be, and this is taking longer than he’d wanted it to. “Your plans?”

“My plan is simple. I mean to speak with my sisters. I will meet with Sasha, and together we will meet with Becky-“

“And what? You mean to then go and have a chat with Charlotte?” Colt laughs, and the Earth Queen scowls.

“You would use her name so freely? Have you no respect for a sorceress?” The Earth Queen raises to her feet, and a rumbling from deep in the earth starts. The dragon shakes his head sadly, and waves her down.

“Queen, take your seat. Respect and reverence are two different things. You forget that I am not as your mortal playthings, nor am I bound to you like Wade over there. Names are nothing more than that.” The Earth Queen stares at Colt for a moment as Wade glowers at the back of his head. In his mind, Finn can hear Bálor cackle loudly. Whatever is going on, the demon finds it amusing.

“You have grown bold with time, dragon.” The Earth Queen takes her seat once more, and fusses with her robes.

“I’ve grown bored. The time for talking is long past, Queen. You have woken into a time that was ripe with chaos long before my fool awoke, and that chaos will only blossom with your sister in the King’s ear. If all you mean to do is talk, you will find yourself asleep once more before too long. These are times that require action. In the south Becky amasses an army, in the north Charlotte has the King’s armies, and Sasha is here.” Colt glances back at the door as it breezes open, and in strides the Air Queen, followed by two men, the taller one Finn presumes is Randy and the other more frail looking one her champion.

“Bayley.” The Air Queen approaches her sister, and embraces her tightly. “It’s been too long, little sister. Your home has become so beautiful, and Wade’s looking so well.” The Air Queen perches on the arm of the Earth Queen’s throne, and smiles fondly down at her sister.

“Sasha. I’m most pleased to see you, and you’re just in time. Brother’s pet was sharing news of our siblings.” Bayley waves a hand towards Colt, who bows his head slightly.

“He’s already told you that dear sister Charlotte has taken the King as her own.” Sasha regards Colt coolly, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “And that Becky is building up her minions.”

“Already reported, and advised that this is very bad not to be talked out of news.” Colt smirks at the Air Queen, who snorts dismissively at him.

“We need to call our own forces together, and stop them. Charlotte being in the ear of a king was what led to us having a thousand-year nap last time.” Sasha slips an arm around Bayley’s shoulders and squeezes her tightly.

“Seriously?” Colt barks a laugh, and steps forward, halting just before the throne. Finn’s hand is on his sword, ready to draw it from its sheath, Wade, and the Air Queen’s attendants look equally ready to pounce. “You have learnt nothing, Sasha. Time changes all things even those that ignore it. Mortality was the greatest gift my fool has ever received, and in your lacking, you all are doomed to repeat your fates. So, gather your armies, and go to war once more. I’m certain another thousand years won’t be that bad.”

“And what would you suggest we do then, dragon? You counsel me against talking. You counsel Sasha against war. Do you propose we sit by and do nothing? Our fate is to battle our sister. Do not forget that that is the fate your charge’s father left us. We are bound by fate as much as you.” The Earth Queen raises to her feet, her voice low, soft, and terrifying enough to make the hairs on the back of Finn’s neck raise.

“Fate?” Colt laughs, and shakes his head. “How little you remember of those days… How many lies have been told you under the guise of truth?” Colt laughs again, and presses the Earth Queen into her throne. “My advice…my counsel is simple.” Colt turns away from the two Queens, and levels Finn with an amused look. “Do what you will, and trust that it will be the wrong choice.” Finn draws his blade and points it squarely at Colt. The spear of the young man who’d come in with the Air Queen joins Finn’s blade in threatening the dragon. “Really?” Colt sighs and shakes his head. “I’d thought better of you Bálor. My advice once more, do as you will, but know you will fail.” In Finn’s mind the demon is laughing hysterically.

“You speak out of turn, Colt.” Randy’s crept closer, standing directly behind the still smiling dragon of the Saint. “You think you have surpassed us? Little brother, you may call your charge a fool, but the real fool is you.” Randy lunges forward, and barely manages to stop himself before he is impaled on Finn’s sword.

“Gone.” The Air Queen’s champion mutters, turning to look at his startled Queen. Finn sheathes his sword, and looks over at Wade. The two remaining dragons leave the chamber quickly, no doubt taking to the skies to hunt out the Saint’s pet. “Lady Sasha?” The Air Queen shakes her head at her champion.

“They won’t find him, Seth. Colt is many things, and as stupid as he seems isn’t one of them.” Sasha sighs, and gets to her feet. “He was here for a reason, and if I know brother it’s not what he said that’s important, it’s how he said it.”

“We’re being manipulated.” Bayley sighs, and her gossamer robes shimmer and vanish, replaced by her normal attire, the Earth Queen replaced by Finn’s sweet mistress the Lady of the Forest.

“Obviously.” The Air Queen’s champion mutters, and pulls from the satchel at his hip a notebook. “That was the Saint’s dragon, I’ll assume. So, somewhere he should have a champion too, right?”

“Obviously.” Sasha glares at her champion haughtily. “Is pointing out the obvious going to be your _thing_ Seth?” Seth bristles, and starts flipping through his notebook.

“My reason for pointing out the obvious is that, clearly the Saint is expecting you to do one of two things. Either try to talk the Ice and Fire Queens down, _or_ join the battle and try to subdue them that way.” Seth suddenly holds the notebook open on a certain page, and shows it to the two Queens. “But there is a third course of action, Your Highness.”

“A finding spell?” Bayley looks at the page excitedly, and flashes a brilliant grin to Finn. “We can track down brother’s champion, _and_ brother!” Bayley hops to her feet and hugs Seth tightly. The Air Queen’s champion stands stalk still looking incredibly shocked as Bayley lets him go, and hugs Finn tightly. “A wonderful idea! Isn’t it, Finn?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Finn smiles slightly, and gently returns his Queen’s hug feeling swept up in her palpable excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	16. Oh Holy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16th- Oh Holy Night - As a mercenary, Steve is used to taking odd jobs, but he's no idea just how odd this one is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk) Fantasy AU.

Steve likes a drink. He likes a drink more than he likes almost anything. He likes a drink more than he likes food. He likes a drink more than he likes people. He likes a drink.

“This one is from the gentleman in the corner.” The bartender sets a fresh pint down in front of Steve, and gestures to the man wrapped up in a cloak in the corner of the bar.

“What for?” Steve eyes the pint dubiously. He’s been a mercenary long enough to know that very little in life is free, even what appears to be a free pint comes with a price tag. The bartender shrugs, and turns to the next patron. Steve takes the free pint over to the clocked figure. He wants the pint, but he wants to know the price first. He sets it down on the bar in front of the cloaked man, and levels him with a harsh look. The cloaked man raises an eyebrow at him, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“The way you’re knocking those back, I thought you’d have appreciated it.” He isn’t local to this little mountain town, and that’s about all Steve can tell just by looking at him. He’s not dressed in the simple woollen clothes of the locals, and his accent isn’t one Steve’s familiar with at all.

“Yeah well, every drink has a price, and I wanna know this one’s.” Steve nudges the drink once with a finger, and watches the cloaked man smile lazily.

“You’re the best mercenary in these parts, right?” The cloaked man’s watching Steve like a cat at a canary.

“It costs more than a pint to hire me.” A lot more if Steve’s honest. He can’t remember how many years ago it was he’d work for a pint, but it’s probably long enough ago that this bar wasn’t even built yet.

“I know.” The cloaked man’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m certain that you’ll find yourself well rewarded for the work you’ll do for me.”

“I’ve not agreed to anything yet.” Steve snaps, and the cloaked man laughs.

“You will though.” The cloaked man laughs again, and grins at Steve. “You always do.”

“Whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes, and makes to leave the cloaked man, when his hand rests lightly on Steve’s arm. There’s no reason why, but Steve finds he can’t move with the cloaked man’s slender gloved fingers on his arm. There’s something familiar in this moment, something that feels like it’s happened a thousand times before.

“Believe me, you _always_ do.” The cloaked man smiles once more, and moves the pint over to Steve. “Drink up. We’ve work to do.” Steve finds himself taking a hold of the pint, and downing it. “C’mon.” Without thought Steve follows the cloaked man out of the bar, out into the snowy night.

“Who the hell are you?” Steve’s no idea where they’re going, and no idea why he’s following this strange cloaked man.

“Tomorrow.” The cloaked man stops walking in the middle of the street, and casts his gaze about. There’s a strange low rumbling noise coming from somewhere nearby. It almost sounds like the growling of a bear, but Steve’s entirely certain that there’s no bears around here.

“What’s that noise?” Steve’s hand drifts to the revolver on his hip. The sound’s grown louder, and he wants to be ready. The cloaked man looks too slight to be of much use in a fight, unless he’s one of those mages from the city. There’s never much to them, but they’re always a pain in the ass in a fight.

“A welcoming gift from my sister.” The cloaked man smiles at him again, and slinks to one side of the street. A sudden gust of wind sweeps a drift of snow up, and once the winds passes in place of the swirling snow stands a monstrously large, snow-white bear, or at least what appears to be a bear, because Steve’s certain that the last bear he saw had significantly less teeth than this one. “Aim for the head.” The cloaked figure sounds amused, and Steve shoots him a filthy look as the bear charges towards him. He manages to dodge the creature’s chomping jaws just in time, and fires a bullet into one of its hind legs. “The head, Steve!” The cloaked man shouts. Steve readies his next shot, and fires it into the beast’s gaping maw. The bear staggers, and swipes out with a paw, catching Steve’s travel cloak, tattering the end of it. Steve fires another shot into the beast’s paw, and darts away from it before it can swipe him again. He levels his gun with the creature’s head, and pulls the trigger. It doesn’t fall into a bleeding heap. It crumbles, turning to snowy white particles and drifts away in the breeze.

“What the fuck was that?” He turns to the stranger who bought him a drink, and the cloaked man shakes his head.

“Get some rest. We’ve a long journey ahead of us.” He laughs, and turns away from Steve. “I’ll meet you at six sharp. Rest well.” Steve watches the cloaked man walk off, and then turns to where the corpse of the snarling beast should be. There’s nothing there but a sad little pile of snowy ashes and a sparkling gem.

“Waste not, want not.” Steve pockets the gem, and heads back to the bar. He needs another drink. An explanation would be better, but he has the distinct feeling he’s not going to get that at this stage.

That night Steve sleeps fitfully. He’s generally not one for dreams, but that night he has one. A long dream about a young man with a brilliant smile, and eyes the colour of summer meadows. In the cold light of morning, all Steve can remember is those eyes, bright and full of life, but filled with such sorrow.

“Wakey, wakey.” The cloaked figure wakes Steve when it’s still dark out. He’s standing to the side of Steve bed, his face still mostly hidden by the folds of his hood. “You’ve ten minutes to get ready. We need to get moving.” Steve groans, and pulls the blankets over his head.

“Go away. I never said I was helping you.” Steve clamps his eyes closed, and shivers when the blankets are pulled from him.

“You didn’t, but you always do, Steve.” The cloaked man sighs, and shoves his hood back from his face. Steve knows those eyes. He’d just dreamt of them.

“Who are you? You said you’d tell me tomorrow, and it’s tomorrow.” Steve starts pulling his clothes on. He tells himself it’s because it’s cold, but he has the horrible feeling it’s because he’s going to be following this man.

“I’m the Saint… Punk. Call me Punk.” Steve’s eyebrows knit as Punk sighs, and takes a seat on the only chair in Steve’s small inn room. “You know me.” Punk waves his hand, and Steve shakes his head, tightening the laces of his leather breastplate. “You don’t remember me, but you do know me.” Punk smiles slightly, and Steve finds himself staring blankly at him.

“You’re insane.” Steve tells him slowly, and straps his pistols to his hips. “You’re insane, and had better be paying me more than a pint for any help you’re hoping to get.” Punk laughs at that, and gets to his feet.

“See, you always help me.” Punk smiles fondly, and gestures to the door. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before my friend shows up.”

“Friend?” Steve follows along behind Punk, trying to ignore the feeling of déjà-vu that’s filling him. He’s sure he’s done this before, absolutely certain he’s met Punk, and followed him somewhere before.

“An old friend.” Punk pulls his hood back up over his head, and leads the way down the steps. Steve stares at his back aimlessly, trying to avoid thinking of anything in particular.

They walk for what feels like forever. They’d skipped breakfast, and Steve’s beginning to feel the effects of not eating after a night of bad sleep, and a slight hangover.

“You hungry?” Punk asks once they’re a few miles out of town, and down the mountain. Steve stares at him blankly, and gestures around them.

“There’s literally nowhere to get food here. If you’d intended to feed me, you should have done it back in town.” Steve scowls at Punk, and tries to dredge up his meagre knowledge about the Saint. He vaguely remembers the legends of the old gods, and the dark god, and something about Horsewomen, and corruption, and the Saint killing of one of them. Steve had never been the sort of child who liked fairy-tales, and the legends of the old gods always struck him as being somehow incomplete. He could never say what it was, but he always felt like something was missing from them.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Punk stops, settles on a rock, and pulls some food from his pack. “I’m not going to starve you, you’d be useless to me half-dead.” Steve comes over to Punk, and perches on a rock by him. “Do you remember anything yet?” Punk asks, cutting hunks of cheese from the block in his hand with a knife.

“Remember anything? What am I supposed to be remembering?” Steve takes the cheese, and the torn piece of bread Punk hands him.

“We’ve done this nine times before… Well, not _this_ , but this all the same.” Punk sighs, and pulls a water skin out next. “You’re gonna have to do without beer.” Steve grimaces, and takes a drink.

“I’ve never met you before, and I’m sticking with my earlier assessment of your insanity.” A soft thud sounds from behind them, and Steve turns to see a column of blueish smoke clearing to show a man wrapped in a deep blue travel cloak.

“I concur.” The man scowls at Punk, and holds his hand out. Punk tosses him the water skin, and smiles.

“I thought you were meeting us off the mountain?” Punk gets to his feet, and embraces the new comer. Steve stamps down the mild annoyance that flares up in him, and concentrates on eating his breakfast. “Did you find out anything interesting?”

“Define interesting? Because if we’re defining it as stuff we already knew then, yes. I found out lots of interesting things.” The man takes a long drink, and hands the water skin back to Punk. “He remembered anything yet?” Punk shakes his head at the question, and Steve finds himself getting to his feet in exasperation.

“What the hell am I supposed to be remembering, exactly? I don’t know who either of you pair are, or what the hell it is you expect me to do. You want me to remember, try telling me what’s going on.” Steve folds his arms over his chest and levels them both with a glare.

“You’ll remember in time.” Punk smiles at Steve, and turns to the new comer. “You look tired. Get some rest.”

“You sure?” The man looks pretty beat, and smothers a yawn behind his hand. In a puff of smoke the man is gone, and in his place, is a deep blue dragon no more than the size of a housecat. Punk collects the little dragon up, and places it on his shoulders.

“A dragon… Shouldn’t he be bigger?” Steve mutters, staring at Punk in shock. Punk shrugs, and the little dragon draped over his shoulders grumbles.

“Get some rest, Colt. If everything goes right, we’re gonna need to get to the capital quickly.” Punk gently scratches the dragon’s head, and jerks his head north. “We’ll have to walk some of the way. If nothing else, it’ll give you plenty of time to remember.” Steve starts following along behind Punk, desperately hoping he remembers whatever it is he’s forgotten soon, otherwise this job is going to be even more annoying than it already is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Kataiyida.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still three free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	17. White Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17th - White Christmas - Working in the kitchens means that Enzo doesn't get much time to talk to girls, but there's one he really likes, and he wishes she liked him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Het (Enzo Amore/Sasha Banks), Fluff, Ye Olde Times

Enzo has worked in the kitchens of the McMahon Manor for a long time. He doesn’t mind the work, but working the spit is boring, and hot. His one highlight is the occasional arrival of one of Mistress Stephanie’s maids, Sasha. The maid is small and elegant, sweet and vicious like a cat. He loves her, from a far, but he loves her.

This year the kitchens are as busy as ever, and the spits are ridiculously busy. Enzo had just enough time to head to the chapel, and listen to the visiting pastor. The sermon isn’t as bad as he thought it could have been, although that’s not because the pastor was better than Enzo had been expecting. Sasha had been sitting in front of him beside her fellow maids. The whole time he’d sat thinking about her pretty smile and lithe form rather than turning his thoughts to his lord and maker. Although, Enzo’s certain that Jesus wouldn’t hold his distraction against him. All men would be distracted by a woman like Sasha.  

Dinner sees him sitting roasting meat for what feels like forever. He’s done what feels like a thousand birds and sides of meat. His arm feels like it might fall off by the time he’s finished and allowed to get some food of his own. He doesn’t mind his work, but he wouldn’t mind something more interesting to do. Still, it does mean he gets to sit and talk with Cass. His best friend also works the spits, the two of them sitting near the big open fires, turning their spits, and discussing anything and everything that crosses their minds. Simple, repetitive work that doesn’t take much out of you, but allows the mind to wander. There are times when he wishes he was better read, or smarter, or somehow more able to woo his ladylove, but Cass assure him that love isn’t hampered by intellect. If it’s meant to be, he and Sasha will find their way to each other. If it’s not, then they won’t. It’s that simple.

The servants from the kitchen all have Christmas dinner together, dining on the spares and leftovers from the Family’s dinner. Enzo’s in the middle of a long rambling tale when Cass nudges him in the ribs.

“Hey, ‘Zo.” Cass nudges him in the ribs again, cutting Enzo off in the middle of his tale about one of his occasional trips into the village nearby. “Isn’t that your girl?” He nods towards the doorway where Sasha and one other maids are standing looking nervously into the kitchen. Without thought, Enzo gets to his feet. The little blonde maid taps Sasha’s shoulder, and points towards Enzo as he approaches them.

“You ladies lost?” He smiles, in the way that makes the village girls blush and giggle but it doesn’t affect the maids in the same way. He supposes that’s because they have to dodge men like Master Shane. Enzo is nothing compared to the Lord’s son. He’s not as rich, tall, or handsome as Mater Shane.

“No, not lost in the least. We were invited to dinner.” The blonde maid grins at him, and waves at someone approaching over his shoulder. “Becky! I have the most exciting gossip for you.” The blonde maid skips past Enzo, and hugs Becky tightly.

“You’ve brought a friend I see, Lexi.” Becky laughs, and Sasha smiles brightly. Enzo’s heart feels like it’s either stopped or aiming to jump out of his mouth.

“Yeah. Sasha wanted to come down for some reason.” Lexi grins, and Sasha blushes lightly.

“Oh? One of the kitchen lads caught your eye there, missy?” Becky laughs, and Sasha’s blush deepens. “Which one do you think it’d be, Enzo?” Becky nudges him, and Enzo suddenly finds the floor very interesting.

“Who knows.” He mutters, and heads back to the table, taking his seat by Cass once more. All throughout the rest of the dinner, he barely speaks. Sasha’s talking to one of the other kitchen hands at the other end of the table. A tall, handsome man with a killer smile, and what feels like several feet on Enzo. It’s like Cass said, if it’s meant to be it’ll happen, and if it’s not she’ll find her true love and Enzo can pine in secret, and keep his love in his dreams.

“Hey Enzo?” Sasha approaches him after the dinner quietly, a soft smile on her face. “You wanna pull the wishbone with me?” She holds out one end of the wishbone to him.

“You sure?” He asks, carefully wrapping his pinkie around one end of it when she nods. “Alright, on three. One, two, three.” The larger part of the wishbone comes away in Enzo’s hand, leaving Sasha looking slightly putout. “Here.” He hands her the bone, a smile gracing her face as she accepts it from him.

“You sure you don’t want to make the wish?” Sasha smiles at him, and he shakes his head.

“Nah. I already got all I could wish for.” Enzo beams back at her, and she looks a little crestfallen.

“Oh… I mean, that’s great. I hope she knows what a lucky girl she is.” Sasha tucks the wishbone into a handkerchief then into her a pocket of her uniform.

“What?” Enzo blinks at her stupidly, fearing Sasha has the wrong end of the stick.

“The girl who’s made your wishes come true… I mean, I’m guessing it’s a girl.” Sasha smiles sadly, and fidgets from foot to foot.

“Yeah… But I don’t think she knows about my wishes.” Enzo shakes his head, and silently curses himself for being so bad at this. “I just hope her wish comes true.” Enzo smiles at Sasha, and hopes somehow she can understand what he’s trying to say in that moment. She smiles softly, and touches his shoulder.

“I think they have.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Cheryl24.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still three free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


	18. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18th - Home for the Holidays - Steve's home alone on his birthday, and is a little miffed that at least one of his boys isn't home for it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (CM Punk/Steve Austin), Fluff, Smut.

“Happy birthday to me. Huh, Hersh?” Steve sighs feeling more than a little neglected. All morning there’s been very little in the way of birthday congratulations from his boys. Well, that’s not entirely true. Dean had called first thing at about five, and given Steve the birthday present of phone sex, which was nice, but not exactly what he wanted. He understands though. Dean’s a busy boy, and his time is monopolised by a different old man that pays him for it. “Eww.” Steve shudders at the accidental mental image he summoned up with that thought. He doesn’t need to be envisioning one of his boys with Vince. Still his birthday is a Sunday, so surely Dean could have made the effort to come down for a few hours at least. The other one, who knows. Punk’s been a prickly mess of contradictions for as long as Steve’s known him, and if he suddenly started becoming rational and reasonable now, Steve would be concerned. He supposes that sometime today Punk’ll show up, if only because that’s what he usually does. It takes a lot to drag him away from his freezing cold hole of a city near Christmas, but he does make the trek to wherever Steve’s working come his birthday.

“I know I’m late, and I’m sorry.” Punk’s voice, then his embrace, jolts Steve from his musings. “I got delayed over night because my city knows that there’s four seasons.”

“Hmm… Texas has four seasons.” Steve turns in the loop of Punk’s arms, and kisses him slow and deep.

“Deer, Jesus, football, and too hot for people don’t count as seasons, Steve.” Punk mutters, taking another kiss from Steve. “I see once more you’ve failed to decorate for Christmas.”

“I was waiting for my boy to come and do it for me, but he was delayed because he lives in a frozen hellhole.” Steve taps Punk on the end of the nose, and grins at him. “Did you bring a box of tricks with you this year?”

“I did not.” Punk shakes his head, and steps away from Steve to stretch. “There’s gotta be a Walmart or a Target around here though, right? We can go buy some.” Punk grins over at Steve.

“You want me to come shopping for Christmas decorations on my birthday?” There’s more than a hint of whining in Steve’s voice, and Punk flashes him an expression that wouldn’t be out of place on Punk’s little mutt’s face. “Oh, god damn it! It’s my birthday! You can’t pull that face on me on my birthday, Punkster.” Steve grumbles, but he knows damn well that he’s going to go to the nearest store with Punk, and he’s going to push the cart whilst Punk fills it with whatever festive nonsense he decides they need, birthday or no.

“Let’s go! The sooner we go shopping, the sooner we can get started.” Punk grins at him, and Steve sighs in defeat. “I’ll drive.” Punk’s already dangling the keys for Steve’s car from one finger. The whole journey to the store, Punk spends telling Steve about his increased training regimen, and what he’s been doing lately. It’s all stuff Steve knows, but it’s so much better hearing Punk’s chatter in person than over the phone. There’s nothing quite like listening to Punk fill the air with words just for the sake of being able to.

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?” The question is the first thing Steve bothers saying, and even then, he waits until they’re parking the car. Punk looks over at him with the gleeful expression of a child. Once more Steve is confronted with the fact that he is very much incapable of saying no to either of his boys, and Punk in particular. Although to be fair to Dean, Punk has had more time to wrap Steve around his little finger, and is more dramatic in general, so him not getting his own way has far bigger consequences.

“Christmas decorations, Steve. I’m looking for Christmas decorations.” Punk grins at him, and all but skips into the store. The next forever, at least that’s what it feels like to Steve, is spent with Punk having a one-sided debate about what decorations they should buy. Steve doesn’t even bother interjecting in the long, rambling conversation Punk’s having ostensibly with Steve. A conversation that lasts until they’re home, and continues as they empty the contents of the car into Steve’s house.

“So, am I going to have to help you decorate with even getting a birthday fuck, Punkster?” Steve’s plastered to Punk’s back and pressing kisses to his neck as soon as the last of the bags of decorations are taken inside.

“Birthday fuck?” Punk tilts his head to one side, letting Steve nip at his neck better. “And would the birthday boy like to fuck or be fucked?”

“Hmm.” Steve presses himself to Punk’s back more firmly, grinding his groin against Punk’s ass. He’s not really decided, but it occurs to him that if he fucks Punk, then Punk will claim he’s too sore or tired to go clambering up ladders to stick decorations to the ceiling. He gropes down Punk’s chest to cradle his cock and balls through his loose pants. “Fuck me, Punkster.” Steve squeezes Punk lightly, and steps away. He catches Punk’s hand, and leads him to the bedroom.

Once there, they share a kiss that quickly escalates, and lasts throughout most of the time Punk’s prepping Steve’s ass for his cock. Once Punk’s fully satisfied that Steve’s ready for him, he grasps Steve’s hips, and thrusts into him. Steve’s eyes close, his head falls back against the pillow and he moans quietly. One of Punk’s hand skims over Steve’s forehead. Steve opens his eyes, and smiles up at Punk.

“Alright?” Punk asks softly, and smiles at him. Steve nods and catches the back of Punk’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“I’m good, Punkster. You wanna move?” Steve asks lazily, and Punk shakes his head.

“Nah, just gonna stay like this.” Punk rolls his eyes, and starts a slow pace. “Well, maybe like this.” Punk speeds up a little, then pulls out. “Wait a minute.” He raises up to his knees, and thrusts back into Steve. “Hard and fast, old man. We’ve got a tree to decorate after all.” Steve arches up, props himself up slightly, and drapes a leg over Punk’s shoulder. Punk catches a hold of Steve’s leg, pulling himself into Steve harder and faster. His other hand wraps around Steve’s cock, stroking him quickly. Steve groans, and his body falls back against the pillows. Punk smirks down at him, and speeds up as much as he can. “You close?” He grinds out between thrusts. Steve manages a vague nod, and bat’s Punk’s hand away from his cock.

“You focus on you, I’ll deal with this.” Steve gasps, and starts stroking himself. His orgasm doesn’t take long to wash over him. Punk’s thrusts are harder, deeper, and slower, his own end clearly close. Punk’s cum fills Steve’s ass, and he gives a few extra thrusts, trying to pump his cum as deeply into Steve as he can. After a moment, Punk pulls out from Steve, and collapses onto his back. He grins over at Steve, and snuggles up to him. Steve runs his hand down Punk’s back, and presses his kiss to his hair.

“Happy birthday, old man.” Punk smiles up at him, and manages to stay still for at least a whole minute before he’s up, and dragging Steve to his feet. “Shower, then you’re gonna have to help me with the decorations. It’s gotta be perfect before Dean arrives later.”

“He’s coming too?” Steve drapes his arms over Punk’s shoulders, and presses a lazy kiss to his lips.

“Of course, you didn’t think we’d not both be home for your birthday?” Punk snorts, and slips away leaving Steve to feel more than a little foolish for underestimating his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As inspired by gauna-03.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!
> 
> There's still 2 free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with. - no repeat songs please!


	19. O Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19th - O Christmas Tree- The Undertaker is very confused by an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Goldust/The Undertaker), Fluff.

An envelope. A gaudy, glittering, golden envelope. This envelope is sitting next to the urn. Bearer waddles over to it, and picks it up.

“Oh no.” Bearer shakes his head, and tosses the envelope away. “Get ready.”

Black boots, black shirt, black hat, black pants, everything all black and familiarly, but in his mind an envelope – gaudy, glittering, gold.

Black. Familiar and comfortable. Gold. Jarring and brilliant.

His black gloved hand takes the gold envelope from the trash, and hides it in the black depths of his coat.

“You think he found it, Marlena?” Pacing isn’t what he should be doing, what he should be doing is reclining, or lounging, or something other manically bouncing off the walls like some fool. Marlena shrugs. She doesn’t care that much is clear.

“I’m sure he did.” She sighs, and levels him with a look. “We’ve a match to be getting ready for.” She smiles at him, and Goldust concedes that his desires to _indulge_ with the Dead Man should perhaps be put on hold for a performance.

Gold glitter falls from the envelope when he opens it. A silent curse falls from his lips as the glitter lands on the ground. Bearer can deal with it. An invitation, written in elegant letters, looping and swirling in gold on the black card. Black, familiar and comfortable, but gold, jarring and brilliant. He considers the invitation. His mind summons up the inviter. He makes his decision.

Still pacing despite being in the motel. He can’t help it. He’s nervous, but for no real reason. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It was a simple, festive invitation. Marlena’s staying in another room, so his hope is that everything will go according to plan. His hope might be dashed, but he’s plenty of ways to _comfort_ himself should that happen.

_Knock…Knock…Knock_

Loud, solid knocks. Definitely not Marlena, and certainly not Room Service. It’s an impressive knock, the sort of scene that would be filmed with a close-up on the door, quickly cutting back to him, expression changing from hope, to fear, to hope, over and over.

“Who is it?” Hope’s won. The camera would pan back and revel him standing in all his glory. The fake tree, sadly bare, but jet black, standing beside him.

_Knock…Knock…Knock_

The camera would cut to the door, and Goldust follows the scene as it’s playing in his mind. On the other side of this door is his intended guest, and his plans are going to play out perfectly.

“C’mon in, Dead Man.” He smiles, and a blank look is all he gets back. Then the envelope. “C’mon. I know you’re here for a reason.”

“What do you want?” The Dead Man talks slowly, like he’s unsure, like Frankenstein’s monster. Goldust gestures to the tree, and then wraps the strand of golden tinsel around the Undertaker’s shoulders and draws him close enough to kiss.

“A _helping_ hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by sub-pion.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	20. I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20th - I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas - Noam finds himself hanging out with the handsome young farmhand whilst stuck at the McMahon Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (T.J. Perkins/Noam Dat), Fluff, Ye Olde Times.

As much as Noam would like to complain about being on land for any length of time, because he loves being at sea, he is enjoying the snow. His dad is pissed about a million things, not that anyone who doesn’t know his dad would be able to tell, because his dad is the sort of man who smiles in the face of adversity, but if you know him you can see it, and right now his dad is pissed. The preacher had promised to pay them as soon as they docked, and then he’d promised as soon as they’d arrived at this manor, and now he’s saying he’ll pay as soon as he’s back in the New World. There’s a good reason his dad usually refuses to help missionaries, and what’s happening now is exactly it. Men of god are only godly in that they too make promises they can’t keep.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck here until Pastor Styles is finished, son.” His dad sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t get into any trouble. I’ll find out where we’re staying, and…” He trails off, and sighs again. “Just don’t break and or steal anything, okay?” He ruffles Noam’s hair, and trudges after the pastor with a resigned set to his shoulders.

“No faith in me, huh dad?” Noam chuckles to himself, and turns his gaze to the manor’s grounds. He supposes he can explore the area for the time being, and then maybe see if there’s anything he can do to help to kill time.

Wandering around in the snow is fun, but it gets boring after a while. Noam’s already covered what feels like miles around the manor’s estate, and he’s wound up at the farmyard. The sounds of cold animals fill the air, and one of the chickens seems to have confused him with someone who has food for it.

“I’ve nothing for you, chickie. Shoo!” Noam flaps a hand at the chicken, and it looks at him balefully. “I’ve no food, so stop looking at me like that!” He flaps his hand at the chicken again, and this time it pecks at his shoe. In fright, he jumps back, and from behind him there’s a giggle.

“No need to be so jumpy. She just thought you were me. Who are you?” A boy a little older than him is standing a lot closer than Noam had expected, and grinning at him.

“Noam.” He sticks his hand out for shaking, and the boy takes it, shaking it firmly.

“T.J. You’re new here?” The boy sets a large pail down, and starts throwing handfuls of seeds out from it. “Here, help me out, newbie.” Noam does as he’s asked, and starts tossing handfuls of seed to the chickens. The one that had attacked him seems to have forgiven him now that he has food for it. “So how come you’re just starting now? I could have used your help earlier in the month.”

“I’m not…I don’t work here.” Noam smiles awkwardly at the older boy.

“What are you doing here then?” T.J. looks at him in confusion, and picks up the bucket. “The ducks now.”

“My dad sailed the preacher here, and now we’ve gotta wait to get paid.” The exact details aren’t something Noam has, and they’re not exactly something he wants to trouble his father for. His dad is annoyed, and the best thing to do when Captain Colt is annoyed is to leave him alone.

“Your dad’s a ship’s captain and he doesn’t have the money to get a place for you to stay? What kind of captain doesn’t have money?” T.J. scoffs, and juts his chin to the mostly frozen over pond where a few miserable looking ducks are bobbing along in tight circles.

“The pastor wants us to sail him back to the New World. If he wanted my dad could get us a place to stay, but this way we’re saving money, and making sure that that damned pastor doesn’t sneak off without paying us.” Noam snaps, and tosses a handful of seed out towards the ducks.

“A man of god isn’t going to rip you off.” T.J. laughs, and Noam sighs dramatically.

“You don’t know enough about the church clearly.” He laughs as T.J. looks scandalised at him.

He spends the rest of the morning with T.J. although at lunchtime he’s stuck with his dad at the Family’s table. His dad looks bored and annoyed, which means he’s being extra nice to everyone, because his dad is rubbish at letting other people know he’s annoyed. After lunch, Noam’s free to wander around the estate some more. He supposes he shouldn’t bug T.J. again, but he finds himself hanging out near the farmyard where the other boy’s working anyway.

The branch Noam had climbed up into gives him only a second’s warning before it breaks, and he tumbles into the snow bank beneath the tree. He hears a loud chuckle, and then T.J. pulls Noam up out of the snow bank. He brushes the snow off his hat, then rights one of the scarves around his throat with a rakish grin on his face.  

“You okay? That was quite an impressive fall.” T.J.’s hands linger on Noam’s shoulders for a little too long, and Noam’s sure he’s probably blushing like a girl, which is ridiculous because T.J.’s not _that_ handsome, at least he’s not until he smiles just like he is in that moment.

“Yeah. I’m alright.” Noam looks down at the ground, and hopes that T.J. doesn’t comment on his blushing like a stupid girl, because he’s not a girl, or blushing, it’s just that it’s cold, and he can’t lie to himself, so how does he expect to fool T.J.?

“You sure? I don’t think your dad would be pleased if you got all beat up on your first day here.” T.J. pats Noam’s shoulder, and keeps walking. “I need to herd the chickens back into their house if you wanna help me.”

“Sure.” Noam quickly, and carefully, trots along after T.J., hoping the older boy won’t mention the fact he’s blushing like an idiot.

“Have you even seen a chicken before?” T.J. asks as he starts herding the chickens towards their coop.

“Yeah. Why?” Noam awkwardly chases after one of the stray chickens, and shoots T.J. a confused look.

“You live on a boat though… Your dad isn’t Noah, is he?” T.J. laughs, and clucks at the chicken that’s ignoring Noam.

“We don’t keep animals on the ship… Well, there’s the cat, but he doesn’t count. I’m not always on the ship anyway. I’ve seen all kinds of animals! This one time we were in Africa, and we saw lions, and elephants, and there was this one hippopotamus that tried to kill a man. It was kind of amazing.” Noam grins at T.J who looks at him dubiously.

“A hippo?” T.J. scoops the last chicken up, and places it inside the coop.

“Uh-huh.” Noam nods, and leans against the coop. “It was _huge_. There’s no way that Noah would have fit two of them on his stupid boat, or two giraffes… I said that to the pastor, and he told me that unless I repented I’d burn in hell… Then dad told him we were Jews, and the pastor started praying for us. It was hilarious.” Noam laughs, and T.J. raises his eyebrows.

“Your dad sounds weird.” T.J. shrugs, and pats Noam on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help. You wanna help me tomorrow?” Noam nods with what he hopes isn’t too enthusiasm.

The pastor’s sermons are as boring as him just talking, and Noam’s glad that his dad let him sneak out early. He’d decided last night that before they get started on T.J.’s job that they’re going to have a snowball fight. He’s never had the opportunity to have one before, and he’s grasping this one with both hands.

As soon as T.J. approaches the barn, Noam fires a snowball at him. Briefly a man T.J. calls Wade interrupts their war, but it doesn’t hamper them overly. Eventually, after the snowball fight is over, Noam finds himself leaning against a wall breathless but far happier than he’s been since he first arrived to dry land. T.J. grins over at him, and holds out a hand.

“I think that was a draw.” He shakes Noam’s hand, and pulls him into a hug. Not knowing why he’s being hugged, but not willing to refuse, Noam returns the hug awkwardly. “You wanna make sure that Mister Wade fed the cows properly?”

“Sure!” Noam’s got no other plans for the day and really, he’s not going to object to spending more time with T.J.

“Hey…” T.J. calls out to Noam as he enters the barn after him. “Look up.” T.J. points up, and Noam notices the mistletoe hanging above the door. “I guess we should.” T.J. presses a kiss to Noam’s lips, and wanders off to check the hay, leaving Noam grinning like a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	21. Jingle Bell Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st - Jingle Bell Rock - The Smackdown Live Christmas party goes well, until it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Roman Reigns/Shane McMahon), Drunkness, Hangover.

He doesn’t get it. His father is a stubborn old man, and Shane knows that, but he’ll never get his father’s obsession with big, muscular men. It’s a running joke really. In Vince McMahon’s house of oily boys in panties fighting you have to be big and strong to get anywhere. The guys that the _fans_ get behind doesn’t matter, what Vince wants is what happens. Shane listens to fans, mostly because he is one. The booking annoys him as much as it annoys the hardcore fans, but again that’s because Shane is one. He loves professional wrestling. He loves the drama, the humour, the athleticism. He loves wrestlers, from the powerhouses to the high-flyers. He admires the men and women who get in the ring and lay it all on the line, but Vince doesn’t. Vince likes the guys he can shape and form into his own _superhero._

The latest of Vinnie Mac’s chosen ones isn’t much if you ask Shane. Somehow still green, on the mic and in the ring, and the man should never be allowed near interviewers unless he’s been scripted. That was the opinion Shane met Reigns with, and it’s still the opinion now. He’s been back for a while now, and there’s a solid reason he’s over on the B show. If Shane had been picking his roster, he’d have taken all the Indy darlings he likes, but he’d not been given an actual pick so he has who he has. He resents Stephanie getting certain guys, he’d kill to have his hands on Zayn or Owens or Cesaro, but he’s got who he has, and he’s not complaining. There are some gems on his roster, and he’s delighted with his on-screen cohort, Bryan’s a blast to work with. Whilst it’s not the roster he’d have picked, he is glad that he got Cena rather than Reigns.

“Hey, Boss-man.” Ambrose is a strange one. Shane likes him, certainly admires his in-ring work, but backstage he lurches from hyper and overexcited to maudlin and lethargic. Today, he seems to be in fine spirits, which is always a bonus.

“Morning.” Shane smiles easily, and wonders what Ambrose is there to discuss, because he looks like he’s got something on his mind. “What’s up?” He gestures to the chair beside him, but Dean shakes his head and grins.

“No time for sitting, Boss-man. I’m here to do some inviting then I gotta go over a segment with Ellsworth.” Dean fidgets from foot to foot, grooving to a tune only playing in his head. Some of his in-ring mannerisms are carried over to his everyday life, but all the best gimmicks are really. The amount of beers he’s had with Uncle Steve confirms that.

“Inviting?” Shane can’t keep the smile from his face as he watches Ambrose’s grooving shift into something more like nervous fidgeting.

“Yeah, yeah… Me and a few of the boys are having some Christmas drinks tonight. Nothing too crazy! And we thought we’d invite you along. Kind of like a work night out… Just in the hotel bar. We’re grown-ups and know that we got work in the morning. I mean if you don’t wanna I’ll fully understand.” Dean smiles awkwardly, and Shane barks a laugh.

“You sound like a kid telling his mom he broke her favourite vase.” Shane shakes his head, and gets to his feet to clap Dean on the shoulder.

“Hey, I just thought I’d extend the offer. If you’re not up for it, I understand. I mean you’re the boss-“

“Dean. I’ll be there. I love work nights out. Tell the boys the tab’s on me.” Shane grins at the slightly shocked expression on Dean’s face, but he can’t blame him. When it comes to being the boss, Shane O’Mac, and Vinnie Mac are two very different men. Shane believes that the way to get the best out of your employees is for them to know that you’re all in this together, that their boss is human just like them. But Shane’s father wants his employees to see him like a god, and to believe that their jobs hang on the capricious whims of their master.

“Alright! We’re meeting after the show. See you there, Boss-man.” Dean grins straight back at Shane, and heads off with a spring in his step. Shane shakes his head, and gets back to work.

After the show the Smackdown Live crew assemble in their hotel’s bar. Again, unlike his father, Shane always tries to stay at the same place as the boys. He knows he romanticises the idea of wrestling, but he can’t help it. He grew up in the midst of it, and he loves it. There’s a very good reason he has no fear when it comes to leaping off stupidly high things. It’s pretty much all he can do when it comes to being in the ring, but he can do it and do it well. So, he does it and loves every second of it.

“Alright!” Kane’s taken charge of the first toast as the most veteran of the veterans there, his glass raised with a smile on his face. “We’ve a lot to be celebrating, and I know we’re gonna have to sit through a thousand of these over the course of this, but the first toast goes to one man.” Kane looks over at Shane and tilts his glass at him. “Our _boss_. The man who’s doing everything he can to help us become the A show. Ladies and gentlemen, to Shane.” The rest of the roster chorus _to Shane_ , and Shane hopes he’s not blushing, because he thinks he might be.

“I dispute me getting the first toast.” Shane gets to his feet, and holds his glass out. “The first toast should go to the people who are making Smackdown the A show.” He waves his glass around the gathered men and women. “My first drink goes to all of you. Thank you.” He drains his drink, and thumps the glass down on the table. “I don’t know if Ambrose mentioned it, but it’s an open bar tonight.” A cheer sounds, and Shane retakes his seat, then bangs his glass on the table. “So, who’s getting me a refill?”

The night progresses, and Shane’s glass is definitely refilled more than his fair share of times. He’s gotten a drink handed to him by everyone on the roster, and he’s feeling more than a little cheerful when Ambrose approaches him for the third time with a new glass in his hand.

“Boss-man!” Ambrose throws an arm around Shane’s shoulders, and gestures to the two men who are with him. “You sober enough to recognise the enemy?” Dean laughs, and Shane rolls his eyes, taking the glass from Dean’s hand.

“Seth! It’s great to see you again! You here to jump ship to the better show?” Shane hugs Rollins, much to his apparent confusion. Stephanie always did follow in their father’s footsteps more closely, so Shane supposes that hugs from the boss aren’t all that common over on Raw.

“How much have you put away?” Seth laughs, and claps Shane on the shoulder.

“Not enough.” Shane drains the drink he’d taken from Dean, and grins at Seth. “Reigns.” He nods at Roman, but nothing more. He’s not impressed with man, and not even drunk Shane in all his inebriated joy can pretend to be.

“Shane.” Reigns sounds slightly putout, but doesn’t otherwise comment.

Talking with Indy guys is always a joy for Shane, and Seth seems to have been gifted to him for that purpose. It’s a slight point of annoyance for Shane that he never really got much of a chance to tap the various Indy guys who came through the WWE in his absence, but now that he’s back he loves hearing tales of matches for twenty, and high school gyms. Shane is at heart a wrestling fan, and listening to Seth talk about his time out in the Indys fills him with glee and a slight dose of jealousy. Reigns returns from wherever he’d been about an hour into Seth, Dean and Cesaro, another Raw interloper, regaling him with Indy stories. Shane supposes he should try and include Reigns in the conversation somehow, but his mind is caught up in all the chatter about exciting Indy matches and the fact that he’s been on a Samoa Joe kick lately which had led to them discussing Joe.

“Have you ever wrestled Joe?” Comes out of Shane’s mouth instead of any sensible question for Reigns. The big Samoan looks at him blankly for a moment and then nods.

“Yeah, I wrestled Joe.” Reigns shrugs, and Shane fills with glee. He never knew, and finally there’s something he’d want to talk to his father’s latest favourite about.

“Really? When? I never knew that. I’ll have to get the tape from the library.” Shane sounds too excited, at least based on the looks he’s getting from Seth and Dean.

“It wasn’t a thing though… Just a match.” Reigns sounds confused, and takes a sip of his beer. “Why you looking at me like that? We’ve all wrestling Joe. He’s good, but he’s not that great. Nothing like his dad.”

“Ro, I don’t think you’re thinking of the same Joe.” Seth says it slowly, and Shane pointedly finishes off his drink. His father’s latest isn’t wrong about Joe Henning, but Samoa Joe is a different kettle of fish all together.

“What Joe you talking about then?” Roman drains his beer, and scowls.

“Samoa Joe… Big guy down in NXT.” Dean flags the bartender over, and gets them to refill Shane’s glass. “I don’t think you know him.”

“Nah, it ain’t ringing any bells.” Reigns laughs, and Shane stamps down the urge to start listing off some of the incredible matches Joe’s had in his career. It doesn’t matter. This is a silly work night out, and he’s not going to get riddled up, he’s going to get liquored up instead, and not worry about Stephanie’s employees cluttering up his good time. “If he’s one of my people I should though.” Roman mutters.

“Shots!” Seth says suddenly, and Shane can find no flaw in that plan. The night gets fuzzy after the first shot. It happens in snapshots. Shane drinking and laughing with Ambrose, flirting with a giggling Alexa and a flirting back Becky, dancing on someone big and male, more shots, more flirting with Naomi, more dancing, a taxi, then a bed.

The next morning Shane wakes up feeling groggy. His head is throbbing, and his body still feels drunk. He doesn’t recognise the hotel room he’s in at all. The bedspread is different to the one in his room, and the luggage on the chair definitely isn’t his. He groans, and buries his face against the pillow. He’s gone home with someone, and knowing him it’ll have been one of the boys, because Shane likes being one of the boys a bit too much. If he’s lucky it’ll be someone from the Raw interlopers, and if he’s _very_ lucky it’ll have been Seth, but he’d not object to having landed Cesaro. The Swiss Superman isn’t too hard on the eyes, and he certainly looks like he’d know how to show Shane a good time. Although, his body doesn’t feel like it had a good time last night, so maybe it was one of the ladies from his own roster he bedded.

“Hey, c’mon get up. I gotta plane to catch, so I gotta get outta here.” _Shit_ is the first and only thing that runs through Shane’s mind.

“What happened last night, Reigns?” Shane asks it with as much innocent inquiry as he can muster. Reigns laughs, and holds out a glass of water along with two tylenol.

“You proved that no one can out shots Ambrose, and that for an older gentleman you got the moves on the dance floor. Then you forgot what room you were in, and the other two had _other_ plans.” Reigns smirks, and Shane quietly fills that away for future reference. If Ambrose and Rollins are a thing, it might be useful leverage in getting Rollins to come over to Smackdown.

“Thanks for the bed, Reigns.” Shane drags himself out of the bed, stuffs his feet into his sneakers, and shuffles over to the door. He’s sure his room’s on the third floor, and he’s sure he’ll find it before he needs to puke. Reigns regards him coolly.

“Any time, but don’t go accusing me of sucking off your dad again then try to kiss me again.” He laughs, and slams the door in Shane’s face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	22. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22nd - Silent Night - One Christmas Eve, Cass wakes up to unfamiliar silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Big Cass/Enzo Amore), Illness, Fluff, Smut.

Christmas is Enzo’s favourite holiday. He loves it so much that for him it starts the day after Thanksgiving. As soon as it hits midnight on that last Friday in November, their apartment is Christmasified. Enzo had out done himself this year. There’s tinsel wrapped around everything, shiny things hanging from the ceiling, lights on the tree, wrapped around the window, around the TV, everywhere Enzo could get them to an outlet there’s lights.

Cass on the other hand is mostly indifferent to Christmas. He doesn’t dislike it, but he doesn’t love it like Enzo. He indulges Enzo’s love for it, but he’s not going to go out of his way to actually _do_ Christmas.

“Hey Zo.” A standard morning greeting that’s met with unexpected, and not standard silence. “You mad or something?” Cass sets a cup of coffee down in front of his partner and levels him with a worried look. It’s not like Enzo to be quiet. Usually the shorter man takes every opportunity to be as loud as possible. Enzo shakes his head, and starts typing on his phone.

_I lost my voice!_

Cass can’t help but chuckle at the little note typed out to him. Enzo sticks his tongue out, and rolls his eyes.

_It’s not funny, Cass! I can’t talk! How am I supposed to go through a day sounding like Darth Vader with a sixty a day habit?_

“I guess you could just stay home and practice sign language.” Cass shrugs, and sets a plate of breakfast down to join the cup of coffee in front of Enzo.

“Ha-ha.” He croaks, and it really does sound awful, like nails on a chalkboard awful.

“Sorry, Zo.” Cass smiles slightly at him, and takes a seat opposite. “You want me to go run your errands and you can stay put? A day in bed would be good for you.” Enzo starts typing, and a message comes through to Cass’s phone. A shopping list. A very long, very detailed shopping list. “The hell do we need all of this for?” Cass holds his phone so that Enzo can see the list.

_Dr Evil and mini-me are coming to dinner_

Cass stares at Enzo blankly. Ever since their neighbours had taken Enzo in for a few hours this time last year, he and they have been close. The two big men seem amused by Enzo, and Enzo is at once bewildered and entertained by them. Somehow the three of them have become good friends, with Cass filling the role of designated driver more often than not. He doesn’t mind, but he’s pretty sure that Luke and Karl are bad influences on Enzo, but that might just be the mother-hen in Cass talking. He worries about his other half far more than he should. It’s not his fault though, apparently when away from Cass for even a few hours Enzo gets himself so sick he can’t talk.

“I guess I’ll go grab this stuff. You make a bed on the couch, and when I’m home I’ll make you some lemon tea, and we can watch Christmas movies all day.” Cass leans over the table to bop Enzo on the nose.

_Good plan!_

“Thank you.” Cass grins at Enzo, all while silently cursing himself for making the offer of going shopping in the first place. He hates crowds, but Christmas Eve grocery crowds are going to be the worst.

His prediction turns out to be true. The lines were insane, and the number of middle-aged ladies he’d had to fight his way through to get the vegetables on Enzo’s list was unreasonable. Luckily, he’s got his height working in his favour when it comes to reaching over most people’s heads, and taking what he needs. He’s beyond grateful when he finally gets home though. Enzo’s made himself a little blanket nest on the couch, and is watching currently watching The Muppet’s’ Christmas Carol. Cass takes the grocery bags into the kitchen, then comes back into the living room to drape himself over the back of the sofa, and ruffle Enzo’s hair.

“Hey Rizzo. You having a nice time?” Enzo looks up at Cass as he talks and nods. “Your voice still gone?” Another nod. “I got you some hot chocolate as well as some lemon tea. You have lunch yet?” A shake of Enzo’s head serves as his answer. “Good. I ordered some chicken soup on Grub Hub, should be here soon.” Enzo gives him an approving thumb up, and turns back to the TV. A half hour later, Cass has finally finished putting the groceries away, and settles down eat his own bowl of soup. Enzo hadn’t bother waiting for him, so he’s finished eating, and sipping at some lemon tea, still watching the movie that’s on the TV.

_What you wanna watch next?_

Enzo holds his phone up to Cass. Cass shrugs, because he really doesn’t much care what they watch, if they’re watching it together anything’ll be fine.

_C’mon Cass! There’s gotta be something!_

“Die Hard?” Cass draws on his meagre knowledge of Christmas movies, and Enzo barks a pained sounding laugh.

“Good choice.” His voice sounds painful, making Cass wince a little to hear it.

“I hope you’re fixed before tomorrow, Zo. I’m not gonna be able to hold a conversation worth having with Luke and Karl tomorrow without you.” Cass finishes his soup off, and collects the dirty dishes into a pile to be taken to the kitchen later. “Is Die Hard on Netflix or do I gotta dig out the DVD?” Enzo tosses his phone to Cass, and summons up the Netflix menu on their TV.

_Let’s face it Cass. They’d have a fine conversation with beer cans. It should be. I’ll look_

“Sweet! I’ll go grab the cookies I got you, and we can watch it.” Cass gathers the dishes, and returns with a bag of gingerbread cookies. He settles down on the couch, and lets Enzo rearrange his blanket nest whilst the movie starts.

Several hours, and movies later and dinner later, Enzo’s snuggled up on Cass’s chest napping. It’s getting late, and they should be thinking about heading to bed, but Enzo seems so content where he is. Cass runs a hand down Enzo’s back, and squeezes his ass. Enzo snuffles against his chest, and Cass chuckles softly to himself.

“C’mon Zo. I think it’s time for bed.” Cass stands up, taking Enzo with him. Enzo blinks awake when Cass starts walking.

“I lost my voice, not my legs.” He croaks, and Cass sets him down gently. Enzo nods in thanks, and ambles off towards the bathroom.

“You feeling better? You had a good nap all the way through Elf.” Cass ruffles Enzo’s hair, then turns on the shower. “You wanna share?” Enzo nods absently, pulls off his clothes and tosses them into the laundry hamper in the corner of their small bathroom. It’s strange having Enzo be so quiet, especially on Christmas Eve, but there’s a little part of Cass that’s not complaining. He loves to hear Enzo talk, but he’s been enjoying sleepy, croaky Enzo almost as much. They shower quickly, with Enzo giving Cass half of hand job, that he keeps stroking all the way through them getting dried off. “You sure you’re well enough for a Christmas Eve round?” Cass asks as Enzo wriggles on the bed, and spreads his legs. He levels Cass with a disdainful look, and pointedly coats one of his fingers in lube before sliding it into his ass.

“My voice is broke, not my ass.” He croaks, and Cass bats his hand out of the way. Prep is always quicker with Cass in charge. Enzo arches into Cass’s fingers, a lazy grin spreading over his lips as his legs spread farther.

“I think we’re ready. Pass me the lube, will you?” Enzo hands the lube over to Cass. He coats his cock, and lines the head up with Enzo’s hole. He smiles up at him as Cass slowly eases into his smaller lover. His hands cup Cass’s face, and stroke over his cheeks just under his eyes. “Nice and slow?” Enzo nods softly, and runs his hands down Cass’s shoulders. Cass sets a slow, tender pace, rocking his hips gently down into Enzo. He ducks his head to press kisses to Enzo’s throat. “You get better, voice box. I miss hearing my Zo calling my name… How are we supposed to outdo the baldies next door if Zo can’t scream?” Enzo makes a pained noise that might be a laugh, and raps Cass on the head lightly. “What? It’s not like I can fuck you better.” Cass laughs, and thrusts down a little more firmly making Enzo’s mouth fall open in a silent gasp. “I gotta do something, and if that’s give your wounded parts pep talks, then that’s what I’m gonna do.” Cass presses another wet kiss to Enzo’s neck when his head presses back against the pillows because of another hard thrust. “Get better.” He whispers against Enzo’s throat, and gets another rap on the head for his silliness. “Fine, fine. We’ll stick with trying to fuck you better then.” Cass laughs, and keeps his pace of slow, deep and firm thrusts. Enzo’s hand steals between their bodies, and Cass can feel it bumping against his belly as Enzo strokes himself to completion. A few thrusts more, and Cass’s own orgasm overtakes him. He stays buried in Enzo for a moment, catching his breath, then withdraws from him. Cass gives him a quick clean up with some tissues, and then settles down to sleep. Enzo snuggles up at his side, and presses a lazy kiss to Cass’s chest.

“Merry Christmas, Cass.” He croaks, and Cass drops a quick kiss to his hair and returns the sentiment before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by takers dark lover.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23rd - Step into Christmas - Christmas traditions are something to be clung to for Luke and Karl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Luke Gallows/Karl Anderson), Drunkeness, Smut.

There’s two things Karl misses about Japan. The flirty Harajuku girls, and the karaoke bars with their pretty _hostesses_. He also misses the sponsors to pay for everything, but that’s a little lower on the list, behind vending machines that spit out everything you could want and good noodles.

“Where we gonna find a karaoke bar this year?” Luke’s sitting on a bench in the locker room when Karl gets out of the shower. He looks perplexed, and only half-dressed.

“We ain’t gonna find anything with your balls hanging out.” Karl mutters, rooting through his bag for his street clothes.

“Some of my best findings have been with my balls out.” Luke laughs, but does pull on some underwear before sitting down again. “Christmas Eve karaoke, Karl-ski. Where are we going to find it?” Christmas Eve karaoke was a tradition started in Japan, and one that Karl would like to keep going, but there’s infinitely less karaoke bars in the US.

“I don’t fucking know… Have you tried google?” Karl’s still trying to find his socks in amongst the random crap in his bag. Luke looks at him blankly for a second, then starts fiddling with his phone.

“There’s one a few blocks down from the hotel.” He sounds triumphant, and finally puts some pants on. Karl finally has found all the clothes he needs, and grins over at Luke.

“We gonna invite AJ?” He finishes drying off, and Luke levels him with an unimpressed look.

“Well, dang it, boys. I just don’t know if I wanna be drinking on the night before Christmas… I wanna get home to my kids, and my wife’s making cookies, and my old coon dog’s gonna need a walking.” Luke does an incredibly accurate and inaccurate AJ impression.

“I guess… The guys here?” Karl gestures around the empty locker room with one hand, and Luke looks around as though evaluating the potential for good company.

“Owens and Zayn don’t drink. Black drinks like a girl, and not one of those Harajuku honeys… God damn I miss those girls.” Luke starts doing up his boots, and keeps looking around the locker room. “Reigns?”

“Kid.” Karl pulls on his shirt, and considers the remaining bags. “Goldust is clean… Jericho?”

“Ask. From the other show, Ambrose, and Harper?” Luke gets to his feet, and starts shoving his gear into his bag.

“You gonna get that shit washed? I’ll text Ambrose and get him to invite all the boys from the other side he likes. Wanna just put a general call out with the location to these guys?” Karl fires a quick message off to Ambrose and gets a quick yes with a smiley face back. “I think his woman’s got his phone.”

“Good. Ambrose is shit with them.” Luke laughs, and claps Karl on the shoulder. “Dump this shit, then let’s hit up this karaoke place! I’m feeling the need to start singing.”

As soon as they arrived at the karaoke place, Luke had basically bought a bottle whisky from the behind the bar, and asked for two glasses. Keeping pace with Luke is a hard task, but Karl’s up for it. They’re a third of the way through the bottle, and already have a drinking rules list five long before the first of the other wrestlers show up. Ambrose makes a beeline for the whisky.

“What’s with the paper?” He jerks his chin to the rules list, and Karl pulls his most formal face.

“These are the rules for the evening. Ahem. Rule one, your drink must not be empty. If your glass is empty it will be topped up. Rule two, your song must be a Christmas song. If it is not your drink will be added to the _cup_.” Luke gestures to the big glass in the centre for the table, whilst Karl nods sagely, clears his throat, and continues reading the rules. “Rule three, if your song contains the word snow, sleigh, bell, tree or Santa, you must drink the cup.”

“What?” Jericho, several bottles of alcohol and more wrestlers have just entered the room, and the veteran is looking torn between excited and horrified. “Christmas songs are nothing but snow, sleighs, bells, trees, and Santa.”

“I’m in.” Sheamus sets a few more bottles of liquor down, and fills up a handful of glasses, passing them around to those there that drink alcohol.

“What’s rule four?” Ambrose asks, downing another shot with a grin on his face as Sheamus fills his glass.

“Rule four, water is only to be consumed by those who do not drink alcohol.” Another sage nod from Karl, and a bark of laughter from Owens.

“You’re all lucky that me and Sami are here to make sure your dumbasses get home.” He chuckles, and sips at his soft drink.

“And the final rule. If you wish to smoke and or vape, everyone will pour their drink into the cup and you must down it before being permitted to smoke.” Randy makes a sound of protest, but is quietened down by a look from Jericho. Karl grins at the Canadian veteran. “And those ladies and gentlemen, are the rules.” Karl brandishes the piece of paper for a moment, and then downs his glass.

“I’m going first!” Sami picks out a song, and starts singing away.

“Line up… Wait, what were the forbidden words again?” Ambrose starts perusing the rules, and then scrolling through the available songs. A small group forms around the song machine. Karl can’t quite help laughing at the chaos that seems to be inevitably starting. Luke’s given up on a glass, and is swigging straight out of his bottle. He’s pushed his way to the front of the singing line, and seems to have taken over on the song picking front.

“Step into Christmas, Karl-ski!” It’s not a question, and Karl doesn’t bother giving any answer beyond a raised hand.

Several drunken songs and duets later, Luke’s sat beside Karl laughing loudly as Jericho’s bitterly chugging the _cup_ for the second time. The Canadian glowers at them once he’s banged the cup on the table, and grabs a mic to launch into White Christmas.

“You think he knows that he’s gotta drink the cup again?” Luke laughs and throws his arm over Karl’s shoulders. “What we singing next?”

“No more.” Jericho glances over as Kevin shoves the cup over to him.

“The rules dictate, Chris.” Kevin grins, and pokes the cup closer to Jericho.

“I’m no drinking this thing again.” He turns to Luke and Karl. “Your rules are fucking insane.”

“Rules are rules, Y-two-jay-ski.” Luke laughs, and takes a swig from his bottle of whiskey. “Karl-ski, we doing our song?” They already sung Step into Christmas, but Luke’s either forgotten, or just wants his hands on the cup again. Karl wobbles over to the machine and loads up the song up.

“Drink your cup, Jericho. It’s the rules.” Karl taps the still protesting veteran on the shoulder. Jericho scowls, but grabs the cup and downs it. He shudders, and wipes his mouth.

“I’m done. G’night guys. It was fun, but now I’m gonna be still drunk on my flight home tomorrow.” Jericho bows out, a few of the other boys leave after him over the next few songs. By the time, Step into Christmas comes back on, it’s just Luke and Karl left.

“Hotel?” Luke’s polishing off the left drinks, letting Karl have the cup once the song’s done.

“Tradition.” Karl smirks, and Luke nods, a matching smirk on his face.

There’s one other Christmas Eve tradition that started in Japan. One that Karl thinks he likes better than the karaoke and the drinking. The cementing of their places on the naughty list. The road is a lonely place, and both he and Luke are lazy bastards at heart. Why bother going and finding a rat when there’s a helping hand right there.

“What you wanna watch? On the TV we’ve got American Dyke-Hoe or The Dicks of Hazard.” Luke’s flicked to the porn channels, and is as ever going to ignore the genuine dirt in favour of porn parodies because he’s a goof.

“American Dyke-Hoe. The actual movie’s got lesbians in it, so this one should have even more.” Karl roots through his bag, and pulls out the lube. “You wanna…” He trails off awkwardly, and Luke barks a laugh.

“Tradition, Karl-ski!” He pulls his clothes off quickly, and settles against the pillows of the two beds they’d pushed together before they left. This tradition is mostly unspoken, but fully agreed upon. They done two things before they’d gone to the karaoke bar. One set the toilet roll on a bedside table, and two shoved the beds together. Karl shakes his head, and strips. He tosses Luke the lube, and settles down beside him.

“Tradition dictates that there should be another bottle, LG.” Karl rolls his eyes, and opens the lube bottle.

“For fuck sake.” Luke gets off the bed and grabs the bottle from the where he’d left it on the dresser. He opens it, and takes a drink. He hands it over to Karl, and he takes a drink. Luke grabs the bottle of lube, and slicks one hand up, with his dry hand, he takes the whisky bottle from Karl, and drinks from it. “You ready?” Luke asks, and takes a hold of Karl’s cock. Karl smirks over at Luke, and grabs his cock. The porno starts playing, and Luke’s hand starts moving slowly, a few of his fingers start toying with Karl’s balls. “You gonna return the favour, Karl-ski?” Karl takes a hold of Luke’s cock, and starts stroking him hard. His gaze is glued to the TV, his mind vaguely focussed on the cock in his hand. It’s always slightly strange feeling Luke’s bigger, rougher hand wrapped around his cock. The movements of his hand doesn’t match the feelings around his dick, but that’s half the fun of this. He glances over at Luke, and the bigger man turns to him with a grin.

“What?” Karl squeezes his cock, and speeds his hand up. He’s not sure if it’s a contest or not, but it’s certainly a point of pride to get the other off first. Luke’s fingers toying with his balls creep up to wrap more firmly around his cock.

“Nothing.” Luke smirks, and speeds his hand up, his thumb rubbing over the head of Karl’s cock. He’s not impressed with how close his orgasm feels. Luke turns back to the movie, his smirk still on his lips. “If I get you off first, do I get to fuck you, Karl-ski?” That comment is accompanied with the final stroke Karl needed. His orgasm washed over him, and his cum coats Luke’s hand. For a second he pants to catch his breath, then focusses on getting Luke off.

“You’re not getting anywhere near my ass.” He snaps once Luke’s cum.

“Merry Christmas.” Luke grins over at him, and wipes his hand off with the toilet roll. Karl grabs the toilet roll from him, wipes his hand off, and hopes that Luke doesn’t bring this up again, because he’s thinking about it a bit too much.

“Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by moiself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	24. Good King Wenceslas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24th - Good King Wenceslas - Vince's gives his pet a gift, a gift his pet almost doesn't want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Vince McMahon/CM Punk), Ye Olde Times, Smut, Fluff.

Work consumes him. It has always been this way, for as long as Vince can remember work has come first. His children try to follow in his footsteps, but they’re flawed like his wife. His son is something of a slut. There’s an endless procession of men and women in and out of Shane’s room. His daughter is a woman, so she can’t follow properly, but she did marry well. Hunter is a solid business partner.

His business is selling and buying. He buys and sells more things than he can remember. There are some things he sells that he’s not embarrassed by, but there are some things that he likes to not talk about. There’s a reason he’s a man of god. The bible condones the business he’s in after all, although perhaps not the purpose he sells some of the _goods_ for. Spices and gems are much easier to talk about when compared to people though, so he tends to keep the conversation to that.

A message comes to him two days before Christmas. A request that he needs to come to the docks to talk with his _seller_. The man is a shady snake of a man, although he is at least more approachable than his colleagues.

The seller smiles serpentine at him. Vince scowls back at him, and folds his arms.

“Is there a good reason you called me down here? I’m supposed to be at home for Christmas.” The seller shakes his head at Vince, and smiles awkwardly.

“There’s a problem with a piece of merchandise.” The seller, Randy, fidgets once more, and Vince raises an eyebrow. “Inside.” Randy opens the locked door behind him. A boy, more probably a young man stares at Vince with defiance in his eyes. One of Randy’s men is slumped in the corner, scowling at the opened door. Randy stalks into the holding room, and grabs the young man by the arm, pulling him to his feet.

“He’s unsellable.” Randy tosses him at Vince. He stares down at the young man picking himself up from the dirt floor, glaring at Vince like he was the devil itself. Vince turns to Randy. The young man isn’t something he should be staring at, and yet his mind screams at him to turn and look once more. There’s something in him, some fire, some spark of defiance that hasn’t been beaten out of him on the journey over from the New World, and it intrigues Vince more than he’s comfortable with. He should not get attached to the merchandise.

“Then why are you presenting him to me? If he’s unsellable, get rid of him.” At Vince’s words from a darkened corner comes a low laugh and the sound of whetstone rasping over a blade. The young man positions himself so he can look at Vince. There’s a plea in his gaze. He is at least afraid to die. He might not want the life he’s been sold into, but he does want a life. Vince catches the young man’s chin, and holds his gaze. The young man stares at him, his eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed tightly together.

“Let me go.” His voice is low and sharp. Vince tightens his hold on his chin. The young man stares at him blankly.

“You’re mine.” Vince stares at him with a similar blank look. “I paid money for you. You are mine.”

“Fuck you.” The young man snorts, and tries to pull his chin free. “You didn’t pay me for me, so I’m mine.” Vince shakes his head, and lets go of him.

“I paid the man who sold you. How old are you?” Vince eyes him critically, trying to guess at his age. He could be old enough, he could be too young, it’s hard to say. He’s at the awkward stage of looking like neither.

“Seventeen.” Man, but only just. It fills Vince with a jolt of relief. It would be disquieting to be intrigued by a boy.

“Old enough.” Vince mutters, and the young man looks at him coolly. “You know why you’re here?”

“I’m not for sale.” The young man snaps, and folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t care that I was sold by someone else, I didn’t sell me.”

“That’s not how this works.” Vince reaches out to pat him on the head, and the young man ducks away.

“You know…you’d be much better off letting me take care of him.” Randy’s partner, Bray, steps out from the shadows, and smiles at Vince. A chill runs down his spine, and the young man winces. “We’ve already had little conversation, isn’t that right little Philip?” Bray steps closer, and uses the tip of his knife to tip the young man’s chin up. “You did a terrible thing to dear brother Harper. Bad boys should be punished.” A single drop of blood blossoms from where Bray’s pressing the knife against Philip’s skin. “I’d be more than happy to give him the punishment he deserves.” Philip’s eyes dart around the room, and land on Vince. The plea from before is back once more, but this time it’s so much stronger. He’s afraid of Bray, absolutely terrified. Although, Vince is on the opinion that all smart men should be afraid of Wyatt.

“I’ll discipline him myself.” Vince finds himself saying without truly thinking about it. He grabs Philip’s arms and pulls him close. Whatever bravado was left in him seems to vanish the moment Vince tucks him in at his side. “Sell the others, I’ll handle this one. Fetch his papers.” Vince barks the order at Randy. He nods once and slinks into the small, grubby office off to one side. Randy returns quickly, and thrusts the papers at Vince. He gathers them up, and marches Philip out of the lockup, and back out to his waiting carriage.

“Thank you…I think.” Philip mutters once they’re outside, and Vince looks at him more closely. He can’t take him back to the manor. There’s absolutely no good reason he can think of for why he’d suddenly have some young man with him, and Shane would no doubt try to bed him. Vince’s mind goes into overdrive trying to think of a good solution to the problem he’s created. He now has an untrained sex-slave, with slightly sketchy immagration papers, wearing ratty clothes, and covered in smudges of dirt. “So, are you going to let me go?” Philip smiles at him, and Vince closes his eyes. He has a nice smile, and pretty eyes. He’d look very good washed and tied to a bed. Vince sighs, and opens the carriage door.

“Get in. We’re going to get you cleaned up.” He has chambers in the city. Philip can stay there for now. One of his other business associates can take care of him. Heyman and his lumbering oaf of a bodyguard will keep an eye on Philip. There’s no way he’ll be able to make even a dent on Brock.

“Cleaned up?” Philip sounds distrustful, and Vince nods sharply. “I’m not your property.” He sounds annoyed, but does get into the carriage. Vince shakes his head, and calls out to the driver, telling him where they’re heading. “Where are you taking me?”

“I have a place in the city. You’ll stay there until we can work something out.” Vince leaves it vague, because he’s not entirely comfortable with owning a sex-slave, but now that he has one, he’d kind of like to keep him. Philip is a pretty, little thing, and Vince would like to experience him at least once.

A full year passes with Vince providing a home and an allowance for Philip. It turns out that he’s not an overly expensive pet. He likes to paint, read, and visit concerts. He’s sharp, funny, and prone to getting into arguments with anyone foolish enough to engage him in them. Over the year, Vince grows more enamoured with him, and Philip seems to either not notice, or not mind Vince’s gentle affections. A touch here, a caress there, a hug, a whisper of a kiss. If anything, Philip seems to like Vince’s tentative warmth. Occasionally, he’ll initiate something between them. It was Philip who took it upon himself to start resting his head against Vince’s knee to read whilst Vince worked on is accounts, or bringing Vince gifts of expensive brandy or chocolate, or more pleasurably Philip will sink to his knees and take Vince into his quick little mouth. He’s proven to be a fine alternative company compared to his increasingly scattered wife, and his ungrateful children.

“You’ll visit on the Feast of Stephen, right?” Philip’s busy tying Vince’s shirt buttons whilst one of his assistants reads the latest update on a shipping manifest to him. Vince’s staff all know that Philip exists, and they know that it is not their place to talk about him, upon pain of Brock. Heyman may have returned to the New World, but his bodyguard remained steadfastly behind, enjoying Philip’s company more than the Heyman’s. The pair have formed something of an oddly close friendship, but somehow Vince finds he doesn’t much mind. Usually anyone too near his pet concerns him, but Brock seems to view Philip as a little brother, and Philip sees Brock as his older sibling. He’s almost content to leave Philip in Brock’s care on the days he _must_ return to the manor.

“I’ll try.” Vince answers Philip’s tentative question. “My family always makes a big deal out of Christmas.” Vince steps back, and adjusts Philip’s shirt collar. “In the new year, we’re taking you to the tailor’s again. I like you in red more than this grey.”

“You don’t need to spend so much on me, Vince.” Philip rolls his eyes, and smiles softly at him. “I’ve your Christmas present here, if you want to take it home.”

“I want to open it with you, my dear pet.” Vince presses a gentle kiss to Philip’s forehead, and caresses his cheek. “You and Brock will have dinner together tomorrow?”

“Hmm, yeah. He’s in the kitchen now making sure the stuff is right.” Philip laughs, and grins at Vince. “What would you like for dinner when you come?”

“Whatever you prepare will be a delight. To dine with you makes all things better.” Vince knows he’s far too flowery with his pet, but Philip brings it out in him in a way that no one else ever has. Even when they were first courting, he wasn’t this way with Linda. Philip is different to anyone Vince has ever spent time with though, so it almost makes sense that in his company, Vince too is different.  

Christmas with his family passes far too slowly, but as soon as dawn arrives the next morning he’s in the carriage and speeding back to Philip. Brock greets him with a vague nod when Vince arrives, and jerks his chin in the direction of Philip’s bedroom.

“Morning.” Vince knocks lightly on the door, and opens it without waiting for Philip to answer. The young man grabs the bedclothes, and is blushing furiously when Vince comes into the room.

“Vince.” He sounds a little high-pitched and nervous.

“You were sampling yourself?” Vince slips a hand under the blankets, and catches Philip’s ankle. He’s suckled on Vince’s cock, but that’s the only way Vince has indulged himself in the slave he’d taken home just over a year ago. He’s certainly thought of going further, Philip is his property and he could do whatever he pleases with him, but Vince has a compulsion to be cautious with Philip. He wants the younger man to blossom before him with desire, not for his body to ravaged by Vince’s greed. Philip stares pointedly down at the bedcovers, and nods awkwardly. “Will you let me see?” Vince trails his hand up Philip’s leg, caressing over his thigh, almost up to his groin but falling just short of that target. Philip looks up at him from under his lashes, and smiles coyly.

“Perhaps, I could give you an extra gift.” He peels the blankets back, laying bare his naked body and firm cock. “It’s been quite some time since you put me here… Sometime that I’ve been waiting for this moment.” His hand slips under one of the pillows and produces a bottle of slick. “This isn’t the gift I promised you the other day, but perhaps this one is better?” Vince takes the bottle from him, and draws Philip into a kiss.

“Lay back.” Vince stands, and crosses the room to close the door. He sheds his clothes on his way back to the bed, his cock taken quickly into his hand and stroked hard as fast as he can.

“I’ve never done _this_ before, Vince.” There’s an unspoken plea for Vince to gentle in Philip’s tone. Vince nods vaguely, and settles between Philip’s spread legs. He kisses him once more, and opens the bottle of slick, coating his fingers. Carefully Vince begins to prepare Philip. His fingers are wet with slick, and the single digit he works into Philip is encased in tight, soft heat. Philip moans quietly, his legs falling wider apart.

“Is this what you’ve wanted to do to me for a year now, Vince?” Philip asks softly, his eyes nothing more than slits of black gazing at Vince in the soft lighting.

“Not a year, Pet.” Vince strokes over his brow with his free hand. “Several months, but not a year.” For a long time, Vince had wanted to tie Philip down and deflower him like the slave he was sold as. But then Vince began to see him as a person in his own right. It had probably started when he’d gone to watch some performance with him. Watching Philip stare with rapt attention at the violinist had taken Vince’s breath away. The fire from the lockup was there still, but it had changed. Under Vince’s care Philip had become trained, though not in the way he would have been had be remained with Randy and Bray. He was trained in the ways of culture, and the mind. In that moment, Vince had decided that he wanted to train Philip in the ways of the body, but not with pain and violence. For Philip being Vince’s slave would be a pleasure and a gift. Vince would provide him with a million beautiful experiences, and Philip would provide Vince with himself.

“Something changed recently, didn’t it?” Philip moans once more, and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Vince strokes a finger over his lip, freeing it from where his teeth were holding it.

“Don’t deny me your sounds, Pet.” Vince presses another finger against Philip’s hole. He gasps as Vince penetrates him with it. His body seems to ripple around Vince’s intruding fingers, and he makes no attempt to quieten his gasping moans.

“How large are you?” Philip asks him, staring up at him with huge, slightly nervous eyes. Vince shakes his head and smiles.

“Not so big that you won’t be able to handle it, my dearest.” Vince starts to carefully ease his fingers apart, stretching Philip open a little.

“Okay.” Philip moans loudly as Vince grazes his prostate. “What?”

“Deep inside every man is a bundle of pleasure that the church would seek to keep hidden from us. Just as they deny that a woman’s pleasure is outside her, they deny that a man’s is inside.” Vince presses against Philip’s prostate once more, earning another startled moan of pleasure. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Philip’s voice is breathy, and goes straight to Vince’s cock. He’s never seen Philip like this before, and he’s so glad he waited to take him with this intention and not merely the desire to fuck him. Vince fingers him a while longer, his fingers spreading and stretching him open to receive Vince’s cock. When he finally penetrates Philip, the younger man moans and gasps, clinging to Vince as he blinks back tears.

“Shh, shh. You can take this, just a little more.” Vince murmurs, pressing light kisses to Philip’s face. Eventually he calms down, and Vince starts to move. Slow, shallow movements that build up and up, until he’s truly fucking Philip. The younger man is still clinging to Vince, but now he’s gasping encouragements, pleading for more, for harder, faster, for everything Vince can possibly give him. Vince’s hand steals between them, determined to make Philip come first. The younger man’s orgasm becomes the focus of Vince’s thrusts and his hand. Each driving thrust is aimed to jab his prostate, each jerk of his hand is aimed to make Philip call out. When he cums his head is pressed back against the pillows, his throat exposed, and Vince’s name on his lips. Vince’s own orgasm pales in comparison to the pleasure he felt at watching Philip lose himself to ecstasy.

“Hmm.” Philip snuggles up to Vince once he withdraws from him, his head against Vince’s chest, and a lazy smile on his lips. “That was much better than I’ve been led to believe.” Philip leans up, and plans a gently kiss to Vince’s lips. “I’m lucky.” He snuggles against Vince once more, making a satisfied little noise as Vince toys with his cum seeping slowly from Philip’s still loosened hole.

“Lucky, dearest?” Vince slides a finger inside of Philip’s ass, pressing against his prostate, making him wriggle and look up at Vince desperately.

“Please. I’m a little…” Philip trails off, and bows his head. There’s something troubling him. Vince has spent enough time with him to know the expression that flitted over his face in that second.

“Sore? Forgive me, my sweet.” Vince strokes his hair from his eyes, and presses a kiss to Philip’s forehead. “Will you tell me what is troubling you? I would spend my day with you knowing that you’re content, rather knowing that there is a dark cloud looming in your mind, pet.”

“Am I to call you master now?” Philip sighs, and withdraws from Vince. He slips from the bed, and over to the jug of water in the corner of the room. He wets a cloth and swipes between his legs. “I’ve spoken with others you’ve sold through Randy and Wyatt. They tell me that I’m to call you master, especially after we make the beast with two backs.” Philip sounds not so much angry as defeated.

“What is this?” Vince sits up in the bed more, and beckons Philip to him. “Have I ever told you to call me anything but my name?”

“Have you ever called me _anything_ but my name?” Philip glares at him, and Vince finds himself taken aback. “I am you slave, and I know you treat me more kindly than any other slave I have spoken to, and for that I am _beyond_ grateful, but…” Philip sighs, and settles on the end of the bed, looking smaller and younger than his eighteen years should allow him. “I don’t wish to call you master. I don’t wish to lose the little freedom I have.”

“Philip.” Vince reaches over to him, and cups his cheek. “You are mine, but are you not free? Do you not have all you want?”

“I am kept here.” Philip mutters, staring pointedly down.

“Do you want Brock gone?” Vince’s mind is reeling. This is not something he’d expected to hear. He provides for Philip. There’s nothing the young man wants for, and yet he craves something extra. Normally this would fill Vince with angry, with anyone else this would have him in a rage and the other trembling in fear, but with Philip he wants to know what he must give up to bring back his sweet pet.

“No.” Philip shakes his head with a wry smile. “I am being a child. I know my place, mas-”

“Don’t.” Vince slaps his hand over Philip’s mouth, and stares into his eyes firmly. “I will never hear that from you.” Vince withdraws his hand and stands. His briefcase is where he left it, and he sighs softly as his hand closes around the handle. “I had meant to give you this at breakfast, but it’s a little late now.” Philip’s look at him curiously as Vince sets the case on the bed. He opens it and withdraws the papers Randy had given him a year ago. “I had not wanted to take you whilst you were still property, but I am unable to resist you.” Vince hands the now legitimised immigration papers to Philip, and closes his hands around them. “A year I have kept you, and a moment longer I cannot.”

“Vince? You’re sending me away?” Philip sounds desperately worried, and thrusts the papers back at Vince. “I want nothing less than to be sent away.” He catches Vince’s hands in his own, and squeezes them tightly. “I may not like that I am a sla-“

“Was. I will not own you.” Vince twists his hands to twine his fingers with Philip’s. “I will keep you, by all means I will gladly, _joyously_ keep you, but I will not own you, Philip.” The young man grins with delight, and flings himself into Vince’s arms.

“I rather like being pet, Vince. Dearest too, and I can’t forget sweetness, and darling, and muffin. That one made me giggle then, and it still does when I think of it. As nice as it is to hear my name sometimes, I rather like my pet-names.” Philip had been pressing fluttering kisses to Vince’s face as he spoke, and finally settles more comfortably into Vince’s lap. “I… Oh! Your present! I fear it’s not quite as dramatic as my papers, but I think you’ll like it all the same.” Philip slips from Vince’s lap, and gets halfway to the door before he realises he’s naked. “Maybe it can wait.” He turns back to Vince, his cheeks blushing red as he no doubt remembered Brock sitting on the other side of the door. “I’ll have to take a job now, won’t I?” Philip comes back to bed, and stills as soon as Vince’s takes him into his arms.

“Nothing shall change, my dearest pet. You are as free as you wish to be, should that mean you wish to work then I would suggest that my offices are always in need to clerks, should that mean you wish to spend your days as you do now, then Brock already knows which museums you like.” Vince presses a kiss to Philip’s hair and squeezes him tightly.

“I’m learning to play violin. Did I tell you?” Philip doesn’t acknowledge the comment Vince made, but he hadn’t really expected him to. This has been a busy morning, and Vince has the feeling that there will be much to discuss regarding Philip’s papers, and his feelings regarding Vince’s continued dealings with Randy and Bray. But that can wait. What is important now is that his pet is in his arms, and that is where his pet _wants_ to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Brokenspell77.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who commented, and kudo'd  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	25. Christmas Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25th - Christmas Steps - When Dean was reassigned to work as the Head of Security for the Facility, he had no idea it would lead to him leaving The Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), Post-Apocalyptic AU, Fluff, Death.

_Run!_

His heart beating out of his chest, his legs working as fast as they can.

_Don’t wait for me!_

He forces himself to go faster, forces himself to get to where he needs to be. The shelter is close, and his place is secured. He’ll be safe once he gets there.

_If it happens, don’t look back. Just run._

His father’s words.

_Go!_

His mother’s when the fire started falling. He’d started running, and he’s still running now. Pushing his way past screaming men, pleading women, and crying children.

“I have a number!” He calls out, and waves his hand in the air. His number boldly stamped on the back of his hand in ink that can’t be washed off. “Let me in! Let me in! I have a number!” A single guard approaches, a scanner in his hand. It passes over the number, and the machine chirps.

“That one comes in.” The guard grabs him by the scruff of the neck, and pulls him up and over the barricade. “Follow her.” He gestures to a female guard, and he follows her obediently. She moves quickly, shunting him into a teleporter.

“It’ll be okay.” She says, a smile on her face. She’s pretty, but not like his mom. His mom is pretty but in the way that moms are pretty. This lady is pretty in the way that the ferocious animals in the zoo were pretty. There’s nothing soft about this lady, just violence and danger. “You’ll be okay.” She promises, and pushes the buttons to send him into the shelter.

He arrives inside the teleportation tube. A few quiet sounds whisper from above. Muted explosions, silenced screams, sirens. He doesn’t want to think about it too much. There’s no point in thinking too much. No good will come from thinking about what’s happening outside. It’s better to focus on the here and now. The shelter is full. Women and children are huddled nervously in corners. Men are pacing, or smoking, or drinking. And him. He’s standing alone near where the teleporters let out looking around, hoping to see his parents. A soldier comes over to him.

“Get away from there. You’re in the way.” The soldier grabs his arm and pulls him away from the teleporters. Another child materialises in it, and stumbles forward. It’s not his mother. He’d hoped it was, but it’s not. “Over there.” The soldier points to the women and children. He and the other child go. This new little girl can’t seem to stay upright. She keeps stumbling. He moves to help her, but stops before he can touch her. She feels hot even from a distance.

“Are you okay?” He asks her quietly. She shakes her head and opens her mouth to try to speak, but it flaps uselessly. A soldier, a woman this time, looks over at them, and then grabs him, flinging him away from the girl.

“Get back all of you!” The soldier, not soft like his mom but still beautiful like the guard from the top, shouts. Her gun is pointed at the girl. She doesn’t wince as she pulls the trigger. He’s never seen a dead body before. He never wants to see another. The soldier calls a man in a white coat over. He’s dressed like a doctor, but he doesn’t look kind like any doctor he’s ever been to.

“The boy.” The unkind looking doctor says, pointing to him. “Did he touch it?” The soldier looks at him. She looks uncertain, and he shakes his head. He didn’t touch the girl, she was too hot to touch. “We can’t take chances.” The unkind doctor snaps his fingers, and people in hazmat suits appear. They grab him roughly.

“Where’s my mom?” He asks softly. He wants his mom. He knows she won’t be able to do anything, but he wants her all the same. He’s scared, and she always makes him feel less scared. The soldier looks at him sadly, and squats down in front of him, behind her other hazmat wearing people start to clean up the dead girl.

“What’s her number?” The soldier asks it softly, and he feels a little safer. Ladies are always safer than men.

“Four-Three-two.” He remembers all of his family’s numbers. His father had made him remember. He’s four-three-four, his brother four-three-three, his father four-three-one, and his mother is four-three-two. He remembered them carefully, right up there with his address and telephone number. The soldier types on her wrist computer, and smiles at him sadly.

“She’ll probably arrive soon.” She stands up, and looks at the hazmat people. They take him away. He doesn’t know where to but it’s all white.

“In here.” Another unkind doctor says, pointing to a little cell. The hazmat people push him into the cell, and he is alone. He’s alone for a very long time.

**Floor Zero**

“Subject Four-three-four is over here.” Doctor Heyman gestures with one hand towards the screens on the wall, and meets Dean’s bored gaze easily. “Very brief contact with The Blaze.” The doctor sounds gleeful.

“Impossible.” Dean snaps staring at the subject inside his cell. “There’s no way that subject is from The Blaze.” Heyman pulls up the subject’s records, and taps at the first data entry made over three hundred years ago. “Impossible.”

“And now you know why this facility is so important.” Heyman smiles at him, and returns his gaze to the subject. “You’ve an important task here, Ambrose. Head of security is not to be taken lightly. Four-three-four is one of our more docile subjects, but make no mistake he is dangerous.” Dean stares at the figure lying on the bed in the cell on the screen, and shakes his head.

“He doesn’t look dangerous.” Dean mutters. Heyman smirks at him, and types at the screen for a second. A security video flashes up. A corridor filled with security personnel making routine rounds one moment, a grisly scene of flayed corpses and viscera appears the very second, they walk past the cell labelled four-three-four. The footage from inside the cell shows the subject standing staring at the wall, his fingers balled up in the sleeves of his simple clothes, shaking slightly.

“He’s dangerous, Ambrose. _Very_ dangerous.” Heyman chuckles. “There’s a reason we don’t let anyone near him.” Dean’s read the records of all the subjects housed in Heyman’s laboratory, and none of them made for as interesting but unbelievable reading as Four-three-four.

“No one?” Dean stares at the man on the screen, subject Four-three-four as he is now. Pale, thin, dressed in simple white clothes, his hair shaved short, his gaze fixedly on the door to his cell.

“It’s not safe unless the subject is subdued. It’s how we bath him. Four-three-four is our most valuable resource, and our most dangerous.” Heyman turns from the monitor to Dean. “Be very careful when you’re on this floor, Ambrose. Four-three-four is unpredictable, and dangerous.” Dean nods absently, staring at the man on the screen. He looks so small and fragile. He can’t be dangerous, he just can’t be. “Docile, but dangerous.” Heyman smiles at Dean, and turns away from the monitor. “You’ve been reassigned from Residential, right?”

“Yeah… It was decided I’d done enough to keep them safe, and that I’d be better served down here.” Dean mutters, his gaze still fixated on Four-three-four. “You’re sure it’s him that’s dangerous? He-“

“Don’t be fooled by him. He’s a weapon, and the enemy knows it. The Blaze reacts with different people differently, and there’s a reason that research into has been banned.” Heyman positions himself between Dean and the monitor. “Don’t worry about him. The research team mostly take care of him.” Dean nods, and follows Heyman the remaining tour of the facility.

**Floor One Hundred and Fifty**

His home in The Tower is on floor one-fifty. He’s lived there ever since becoming a member of the security forces. Before being assigned to the facility, on floors zero to ten, Dean worked up on floors one to two hundred. He does and doesn’t miss working residential floors. He misses there being people to talk to, but he doesn’t miss the crime rates.

The subjects Dean’s monitoring are all quiet and docile most of the time, but every so often something will happen. There’s been one death in all the three months Dean’s been there. He doesn’t like dwelling on the desiccated corpse, he’s seen enough to not really care, but he does dwell on who he could have avoided there being a corpse. Four-three-four is as Heyman said, dangerous. But why, and how, did Four-three-four kill that guard. It weighs on Dean’s mind. He doesn’t like not having answers, and he doesn’t like not knowing how to get them.

Four-three-four haunts the back of Dean’s mind. He’s taken the non-classified version of Four-three-four’s notes home many times, trying to read and understand as much of them as he can. They’re bewildering. The sheer length of time Four-three-four’s been alive is terrifying. Three hundred and five years. He was made a subject at five years old when The Blaze occurred. The subject in the cell Dean finds himself staring at so often is over three hundred years old, but barely looks as old as Dean.

**Floor Three Hundred and Ninety-Nine**

Being called to see the higher-ups is never fun. Dean’s met with the executives on a handful of occasions, and each time he’s felt like a child being called to floor three hundred and twenty, where his principal’s office was. He hadn’t like his principal, and he doesn’t like the executives. The receptionist gives him an elevator key, and tells him to take it to floor four-thirty-four. It almost feels like fate, and it doesn’t comfort Dean at all.

**Floor Four Hundred and Thirty-Four**

Floor four hundred and thirty-four turns out to be a research lab. Men and women in white coats are pouring over computers and beakers of chemicals that are bubbling or smoking lightly.

“Ambrose?” A man approaches him, a tall, solid man with a genial smile.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re who called me here.” Dean fidgets, and wishes he’d known more about the four hundred floors. He’d thought he’d been called to see the executives, he’d thought he was going up to the five hundreds. He’s never been on a four hundred floor before. The man nods, and beckons Dean to follow him. “Why am I here?” Dean asks once they get into a stairwell. He’s taken stairs in The Tower before, but not often. They’re usually the home for nefarious deeds, but this one is clinically clean.

“This way.” The man walks down a few flights, and stops on a landing. He taps the wall, and then presses his hand against it. A secret door opens, and he quickly ushers Dean in. “Let’s go.” The man keeps walking, and Dean hurries to catch up with him. He’s never seen a place like this. It’s probably maintenance tunnels, but he’s studied plans of The Tower, and he’s never seen this tunnel on them.

“Where are we going?” Dean trails along behind the man, staring a hole into the back of his head. The man shakes his head, and pushes open a door. Inside the room there’s several strangely dressed people.

“Ambrose!” One of the people steps forward, and claps Dean on the shoulder. He recognises this man. He’s the son of the Chief Executive, Shane McMahon. “I’m glad you came. We’ve a big ask for you.” Shane ushers him over to a screen, and gestures to it. It shows Four-three-four sitting on the bed in his cell. “We want him out. Our researchers have been studying the samples we’ve stolen from Tower researchers, and we know how the Blaze manifested in him. We need to get him out of here before they work it out. Colt’s been doing all he can to fudge their results, but it’s getting too risky.” The man who’d taken Dean here smiles over at him, and he assumes that must be Colt. “We need you to get him to The Roof.”

“The Roof? Are you insane?” Dean shakes his head, and takes a step back. “The Roof leads to the outside, and there’s nothing out there.” Shane laughs softly at Dean’s outburst.

“They lied to you. The Earth’s recovering nicely without humans all over the place. We need you to take him to Independence. When you get to The Roof one of our guys will meet you.” Shane approaches Dean, and claps him on the shoulder. “His whole life has been nothing but that cell and pain. You can help him. We’ve been keeping an eye on you, and we know you want to do that.” Shane squeezes Dean’s shoulder, and smiles. “You’ve a few days to think about it. If you decide you want to help us, go to floor seventy-nine on Thursday at eight p.m.” Shane glances over at Colt, and Dean’s taken away from the little meeting room.

**Floor Seventy-Nine**

This isn’t a floor Dean’s ever been on before. There’s nothing but crates and the destitute. He looks out of place. He’s dressed in nice clothes and has had a shower this morning. Every person he’s walked past so far is clad in filthy rags, and looks like bathing is low on their list of priorities. But, he’d spent the last few days staring at Four-three-four. He’d been shaking the whole time, blood stains on his white clothes, and a bruise that had looked terrible for an hour then healed on his face. Dean can’t leave him where he is, Four-three-four deserves something other than the cell he’s been left in for so long.

“You must be the guy I’m looking for.” A hand lands on Dean’s shoulder. He freezes, his hand going straight for his gun. “Don’t worry, I’m a friend of a friend.” The man holding his shoulder tugs Dean back a little. “This way.” He follows the man into the alleyway, his hand resting on his gun the whole time. The man is silent the whole walk, but keeps his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “In here.” Dean follows the man into the room, and is surprised by the bustle inside it. A young woman looks up at him, and smiles.

“You must be Ambrose.” She shakes his hand, and beams at him. “Alrighty. I’m gonna need a handprint.” She holds out a tablet to him, and grabs his wrist, pressing his hand flat against the tablet. She carries the tablet over to the computer in the corner, and starts typing quickly. “Fit him up for a com, will you?” She calls out, and another woman comes over to Dean. She takes his wrist, and wraps a tape measure around it, then hops over to a shelving unit on the wall.

“C’mere.” She calls out to him. Reluctantly he goes over to the woman, and she snaps a communications unit onto his wrist. “Okay. This here has a list of all the safe passages, ducts and houses you can use. It also has a scrambler in it, so it’ll be harder for Tower Security to track you.” She smiles at him, and shows him how to access the maps showing safe places. The first woman comes over, and taps Dean on the shoulder.

“Passage doors are accessible using your handprint, press it against the sensor and the door will open. The first thing you need to do once you’ve got him out of the facility is get him here. We’re gonna need to check for tracking chips, or anything else they might have implanted into him. Do you have a start date?” The woman looks at Dean, and he nods.

“Midnight. I want him out as soon as I can.” Dean sounds determined, he _feels_ determined. He just hopes he can succeed.

**Floor Zero**

Dean’s hands are shaking as he types in the security code to cell four-three-four. The subject isn’t moving. He’s just sitting with his back pressed against the wall staring at him. Dean creeps forward carefully, and forces a smile to his face.

“I need you to trust me.” Dean says softly, and he hopes that Four-three-four understands him. “I need you to come with me, okay?” Dean offers a hand, and Four-three-four looks at him blankly. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Four-three-four blinks slowly, and nods.

“I…” He stands slowly, and looks around the cell desperately. “Is it supposed to be open?” He asks softly, and Dean finds himself reaching out for Four-three-four to pull him close. He takes a firm hold of Four-three-four’s hand, and leads him out of the cell.  

“C’mon.” Dean hurries him along, and hopes that the security detail are still watching the looped footage he put in place. He doesn’t want to see what Four-three-four can do up close and personal. His job is to get the subject, and get out. Half of the job is done, the other, harder, half is left. “C’mon. You have to move faster than this.”

“I…” Four-three-four looks hopelessly at Dean, and shakes his head. He waves down at his skinny legs, and frail body. “I didn’t know it opened without there being more people.” His voice is tiny, so soft and quiet it almost hurts to hear. Dean chokes back bile, and bites his lip thinking about how to get Four-three-four out of here if he can’t move faster than the mostly atrophied creature he is. He could carry him, but they’d get caught. They could try to sneak out. He could get a gurney and pretend to be moving a corpse. In the end, he ushers Four-three-four into a janitor’s closet, and tells him to wait there. The subject looks confused, but agrees. It takes Dean about five minutes to find a suitably sized uniform, and another three to explain what was going on to Four-three-four enough for him to put it on.

“Now… Just pretend to be drunk.” Dean wraps an arm around the subject’s slight waist, and hopes that no one looks to closely at them. He’s not wearing his head of security clothes, they’re both just regular looking security guys heading somewhere whilst being a little tipsy. Four-three-four’s a little wobbly anyway, so somehow this shoddy plan works. Now to take the elevator to floor seventy-nine, and hope that Shane’s people have someone there to meet them.

**Floor Seventy-Nine**

A large man with a scowl on his face bumps into Dean and Four-three-four as soon as they step off the elevator.

“This way.” He mutters quietly, and Dean catches Four-three-four’s hand once more, gently tugging him along. He seems bewildered and scared, but Dean can’t blame him. His whole life he’s lived in a cell in the Facility, and now he’s travelling around The Tower he knows nothing about.

“It’s okay.” Dean tells him softly. “These people are going to help you.” Four-three-four looks even more confused, but doesn’t comment, instead he focusses on keeping moving. The large man leads them back to the room Dean had gotten his com-unit from. The woman inside looks delighted to see Four-three-four, and quickly she takes him over to the computer. She’s talking a mile a minute, but Dean’s not listening to what she’s saying. Instead he’s watching Four-three-four. The subject looks scared. He keeps wincing whenever some comes over to him with any kind of enthusiasm or metal object. “It’s okay.” Dean finds himself taking Four-three-four’s hand once more. “They’re going to check for a tracking device, and anything else that might have been done to you, and then we’re going to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Four-three-four’s focused on Dean. His attention squarely on him, and not the woman poking at his arm.

“A place we call Independence.” The woman smiles brightly, and pats Four-three-four’s shoulder. “You’re all clear sweetie.”

“Independence from what?” Four-three-four gets to his feet, not letting go of Dean’s hand for even a second.

“This.” The woman waves her hand around, and smiles at him. “We are Independence. It’s our desire to leave this tower and to be free once more. Getting you out of here is Dean’s job, and once you’re out, you’ll be free for the first time in three hundred years.” The woman smiles at him fondly, and turns to Dean. “We’ve cleared a service elevator. This key will take you up to floor four hundred and thirty-four. Colt’ll meet you there. He’ll give you another clearance. Hopefully, you’ll be up and out before too long.”

**Floor Ninety-three**

At floor ninety-three, a delivery team gets on the elevator. Four-three-four moves as close to Dean, and the package the woman on seventy-nine had given him to take to Colt, as he can. The delivery team make rambling small talk with Dean, and Four-three-four ignores them as much as he can. He stands as still as a statue, clinging to Dean’s hand, and staring straight ahead. One of the delivery team comments on him, and Dean shakes his head.

“He’s never been on the service elevators before.” Dean offers, knowing that it’s a fairly reasonable explanation. The service elevators move far quicker than civilian ones, and they’re much more barebones. It’s not uncommon for people to be uncomfortable in them.

“You’ll get used to it.” The delivery man says with a laugh. “What floor you heading to?”

“Four-thirty-something.” Dean offers vaguely, and the delivery man nods.

“Up to research… All those white coats make me uncomfortable, you know?” A different member of the delivery team mutters. “Hate those fuckers, reminds me of being a kid.”

“Alright, alright. Quit your yammering. This is our floor.” They bundle out with their shipping crates.

**Floor One Hundred and One**

“It was nice speaking to you boys.” The foreman for the delivery team waves goodbye as the elevator starts moving again.

“Why would white coats remind him of being a kid?” Four-three-four asks softly, and Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t like thinking about being a child too much. It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all. “My doctor was really nice… Do you think he had a mean doctor?”

“Four-three-four, things are different now. Did you grow up with your parents?” Dean sets the package down, and looks over at Four-three-four. He nods, and his gaze falls to the floor.

“Until they put me in the white room. Every day until we had to go to the shelter I was with my mom and dad and brother.” Four-three-four smiles sadly at the floor.

“Here in The Tower, kids are born, and then they’re taken to the three hundred floors. They go to school, they sleep, they play without ever knowing their parents. Here, our parents are the executives.” Dean squeezes Four-three-four’s hand gently. “Every week we have to go to see the white coats… It’s not a fun experience.”

“Oh.” Four-three-four whispers something softly to himself, and Dean decides it’s best not to pry into what revelation Four-three-four’s just had. “What’s your name?”

“Dean.” Dean’s shocked more than anything at Four-three-four’s question. He’d not been expecting the question, and he’s not entirely sure he should have answered, but he did. Four-three-four looks pleased to have an answer, and Dean supposes there’s no harm in letting Four-three-four know his name.

**Floor Four Hundred and Thirty-Four**

“You made it.” Colt greets them at the service elevator, and quickly ushers them into one of the Independence secret ducts. “They’ve notice he’s missing, so you’re going to have to be a little more careful.

“I know you.” Four-three-four says suddenly, glaring at Colt. “You came with the pe-“

“I know, you know me, and I’m sorry for what they did to you. I can’t apologise properly now, but I can help make sure it never happens again.” Colt rests a hand on Four-three-four’s shoulder, and smiles at him. “I do have another lollipop though.” He pulls one from his pocket, and gives it to Four-three-four. Without saying anything else, Four-three-four unwraps the candy, and starts sucking on it. “You’re going to have to move up through the ducts. There’s elevators every few floors, but they’re spread out. Use your map.” He pulls an elevator key from his pocket, and presses it into Dean’s hand. “Once you get to floor eight hundred, this will take you to the roof.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder, and smiles over at Four-three-four. “Try to not use your gift, okay? It’ll take a lot out of you, and we need you to be okay when you get to Independence.”

“What are they going to do to me there?” Four-three-four asks sharply. Colt shakes his head and smiles kindly at him.

“We can help you either get rid of it, or control it better. We found out what it does, and how it works, so we can help.” Colt pulls another lollipop from his pocket, and hands it to Four-three-four. “Grape’s your favourite, right?” Four-three-four nods slightly. “Be safe, you two.” He turns away, leaving Dean and Four-three-four in the corridor. Dean takes a hold of his hand, and leads him to where the com-unit says they should be.

**Floor Five Hundred and Twenty-Three**

It doesn’t feel safe to stop here, but Four-three-four looks exhausted. The Indy ducts are far harder work than the service elevator had been. The links out to service staircases, the rare short elevator rides, it’s tiring to Dean as well as Four-three-four, but it’s definitely affecting Four-three-four the most. He’s lagging behind Dean. The only thing keeping him moving forward is the fact his hand is held in Dean’s.

“Dean?” He says softly, and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “I’m tired.” Dean nods, and opens the com-unit. There’s a small safe house along the duct from them. They can rest for a few hours, and then get back on their journey. There’s just under three hundred floors before they can use the elevator key Colt gave them.

“I know.” Dean strokes his thumb over Four-three-four’s skin, and keeps walking. The entrance to the safe house opens once Dean presses his palm flat against the sensor. “Get in. We can stay here for a few hours.” Four-three-four crawls in first, and then makes a soft noise of surprise. Inside the safe house is nothing more than a bed, and a toilet with a shoddy curtain tacked around it to block it from view. Four-three-four makes his way to the toilet, and Dean starts poking around, hoping that there’s something worth eating. He finds some jerky, and bottled water. He makes use of the toilet whilst Four-three-four settles on the bed to start chewing at his portion of jerky.

“You take the bed.” Four-three-four says once he’s eaten all he can, and can’t keep from yawning. Dean shakes his head, and pulls a blanket off the bed, leaving two more on it.

“Four-three-four, you take the bed. I’ll sleep here.” Dean gestures to the floor beside the single mattress. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” He promises, and isn’t overly surprised when Four-three-four’s hand seeks his out, hold it tightly.

In the morning, they eat more of the jerky, and sneak back out into the ducts. Four-three-four seems very quiet, his gaze down cast as they trudge up stairwells, and occasionally get an elevator ride for a few floors. Dean’s growing worried about him. He’s not had the opportunity to do much of anything in his cell, and this must be hard on him. But, he is holding up well enough.

**Floor Six Hundred and Seventeen**

The Tower Security detail hadn’t been waiting for them, but they’d been there all the same when they stumbled out of the stairwell. Dean had quietly cursed his misreading of which door to take them back into the Indy ducts. If he’d gone with the door on the left, they’d have been fine, but he’d gone right. Quickly, he’d grabbed Four-three-four more firmly, and dragged him behind some paltry cover. He’d fired shots at Security, but he’d only managed to take one down. There’s still several more trying to kill them on the other side of the wall they’re cowering behind.

“I can stop them.” Four-three-four says softly. He looks scared, but Dean’s come to expect that from him. He’s looked scared since they’d left The Facility, he’s looked scared every step of the way up The Tower.

“How?” Dean mutters, checking his clip once more. One bullet. He needs more than one bullet. The shoots that Tower Security are firing at them are deafeningly loud, and show no signs of stopping.

“I…after I stop them, you’ll need to carry me.” Somehow, even over the sounds of gunfire, Dean can hear Four-three-four. “Will you? You won’t leave me behind?” Dean touches his shoulder lightly, and smiles softly.

“I promised to get you out of The Tower, and I will.” He touches Four-three-four’s cheek lightly, then squeezes his shoulder once more. “Do what you have to, but try to leave their ammo alone.” Four-three-four nods vaguely, and gets to his feet. He takes a few steps forward, out from their cover. Screams and crackling sounds fill the air. Dean closes his eyes until there’s the soft sound of a body hitting the floor in the silence that followed the screaming. He carefully drags Four-three-four back into cover, and picks his way through the dusty corpses of the Security detail that had been shooting at them for ammo. Several cartridges, and a decent rifle to go with his handgun. He grabs a few extra provisions, and the detail’s commander’s id. It’ll help them get further up The Tower in the elevators, which is helpful because Dean’s not sure he’d be able to carry Four-three-four up too many flights of stairs. 

**Floor Seven Hundred and Twenty-six**

“Hey.” Four-three-four’s soft voice wakes Dean gently from the nap he was having. Once the commander’s id had taken them as far as it could, Dean had tracked down an Indy duct to rest in. He’d settled down with Four-three-four cuddled close to his chest. “You can let me go. I’m awake.” Dean almost reluctantly releases him, and rubs at his eyes.

“What time is it?” He asks, and gets nothing but a shrug in response. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting though, it’s not like Four-three-four’s going to have a watch.

“Later than it was.” Four-three-four smiles at him vaguely, and tucks his knees under his chin, watching Dean carefully. Dean glances down at his com-unit, and rubs his eyes. They should probably get going again. They need to get as far up The Tower as possible before they sleep for any length of time. The higher up they are, the less people there’ll be, at least that’s the assumption he’s working with. During his time working in Population Control, there’d never been any records of anyone but Security and Agriculture on floors higher than seven hundred. “Where are we?” Four-three-four asks quietly, still staring at Dean.

“I didn’t look at the floor number. I just wanted to get you somewhere safe.” Dean smiles at him, and Four-three-four shakes his head.

“I was somewhere safe…mostly safe. It was safe when there weren’t people with guns or knives.” He closes his eyes, and wraps his arms about himself. “I’m glad you don’t have a knife.”

“People with knives?” Dean reaches over, and rests his hand on Four-three-four’s wrist. He nods, opens his eyes, and sighs softly.

“They’d… _do_ things to me. Take my blood, make me scream.” His eyes screw shut, and he ducks his head. “The people with guns would tell me to let the people with knives do what they had to or they’d shoot me again.”

“Again?” Dean knows he sounds almost too startled, but there’d been nothing in Four-three-four’s records about any of this. Sample collections were documented, some basic health tests, logs of exercise times, education, but nothing about men with knives.

“A long time ago now.” Four-three-four rubs at his shoulder, and offers Dean a slight smile as he pushes the fabric down, showing a very faded scar. “It hurt a lot, but it went away. They test to see how quickly things go away. Sometimes it takes a long time, sometimes only a little, and some things never stop being painful.” He pulls his shirt back into place and buries his face against his knees. “They tell me they want to understand what happened to me, that the only reason they do any of these things is because they think that I can help the rest of humanity survive better, but sometimes I think that some of them just like to hurt me.” Dean scoots across the duct, and wraps an arm around Four-three-four’s shoulders.

“I’m trying to help you.” Dean squeezes him lightly, and Four-three-four relaxes against him. “I was asked by some people, they call themselves The Independents, the people on floor seventy-nine, to get you out of here. They say they’ve got a place outside of The Tower where you’ll be safer.”

“Why?” Four-three-four sounds suspicious, and Dean pulls away a little so he can look him in the eye.

“Why? Why what? Why am I helping you? Why do they want you to go to their safe place? I don’t know about them, but I’m helping you because you’ve done nothing to deserve to be locked up in the Facility.” Dean pats his arm, and offers Four-three-four a smile.

“Do you trust them?” Four-three-four asks quietly, his gaze never wavering from Dean’s. He shrugs awkwardly.

“I don’t not trust them. I trust them more than the executives, and anyone in The Tower.” Dean smiles again, and takes one of Four-three-four’s hands. “The Tower executives say that the outside isn’t safe, but I think it will be safer than here for you. I think that there won’t be any people with knives or guns looking to hurt you, and if there are, I’ll stop them.” Four-three-four looks confused, and Dean pulls him into a hug. “I promise that I’ll keep you safe. If anyone means you harm again, I’ll stop them.” Four-three-four nods, his arms wrap around Dean and squeeze him tightly back.

“I trust you.” He says it softly, almost like he’s unsure if it’s the right thing to say, but like he truly means it.

“Thank you, Four-three-four. I don’t think anyone’s ever _trusted_ me before, so thank you.” Dean squeezes him once more, and loosens his hold a little.

“I have a name you know.” Four-three-four pulls away a little, and smiles at Dean, a soft, timid smile that makes his eyes light up. Dean makes an enquiring noise, and Four-three-four nods. “Do you want it?” Dean nods hopefully, not really trusting himself to speak. It feels like there’s something lodged in his throat, stopping any words from coming out. “It’s Phil.”

“Okay, Phil.” Dean smiles brilliantly, and is made even happier when Phil returns that smile. “Phil… The Independents tell me that they know what your _power_ is… Do you?” Phil looks at him thoughtfully, his eyes half-closed.

“It’s a gift… It’s… It’s not what the men with knives think it is.” Phil tilts his head to one side, and smiles. “What do you think it is?” Dean’s mind flickers to the dusty, aged corpses of the Security detail, and then lingers on the fact that Phil is over three hundred years old.

“It’s time.” Dean murmurs, staring at him. Phil doesn’t answer, not really at least, he merely smiles.

**Floor Seven Hundred and Forty-Three**

They’ve been making slow progress up the stairwells for what feels like hours. Phil looks miserable, and Dean knows he does too. He starts typing on his com-unit, and a spike of joy fills him when he notices that on the next floor there’s an actual Indy safe house.

“One more floor, Phil.” Dean tells him, and Phil looks up at him. “On the next floor, there’s a safe house.”

“Oh good. I need a pee.” Phil smothers a yawn behind the hand not held in Dean’s, and smiles up at him.

“Yeah, me too. And a shower, and a night in a real bed… I never thought I’d miss my bed so much.” Dean mutters, hopping up the last two steps in the flight. “But for a few hours at least, we’ll have a bed, and a shower, and maybe even some real food.” Phil nods vaguely, either not as excited as Dean or more tired than he is.

**Floor Seven Hundred and Forty-Four**

The safe house is small. A little room with a bed on the floor, an electric hotplate in one corner, and a small bathroom off one of the walls. Phil makes a beeline for the bathroom, and before too long, Dean can hear the shower running.

“You mind if I use the toilet while you’re showering?” He calls out, and gets a vague yes back. In the bathroom, Phil’s mostly hidden behind the shower’s half-door, the sounds of him bathing mostly drowning out the sound of Dean peeing. “I’ll make some food for when you’re out, okay?”

“Sure. Is there clean clothes?” Phil pokes his head out from over the shower’s door. There’s a goofy smile on his face, and he looks more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him. “I’m nearly done.”

“I’ll look, but you don’t need to hurry.” Dean laughs, and leaves the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him so he can hear Phil’s shower. Knowing that he’s there, having it confirmed to him audibly makes him feel unspeakably better somehow. There turns out to a duffle-bag in the corner by the hotplate, filled with clothes and some food. The clothes look like the sort of coveralls that the agriculture workers wear so if they need to move through the farming levels, they should blend in alright.

They eat quickly, and as soon as they’re finished its definitely time for bed. Phil’s yawning almost constantly, and Dean feels drained in a way he’s never felt before. The bed is big enough for two, but there’s no suitable sleeping clothes save underwear. That doesn’t seem to bother Phil. He’s slipped into bed completely naked, and moans softly as he does so.

“I’ve never felt a more comfortable bed in my life.” He grins at Dean. “Come feel!” he chuckles, and turns to lie on his side facing Dean. Dean pulls on a pair of boxers, and slips into bed with Phil. The mattress is comfortable, far more comfortable than the last two places he’s slept. “Dean?” Phil moves a little closer, his eyes downcast.

“Hmm?” Dean can feel sleep coming over him already. Phil moves closer still, and without really thinking about it, Dean pulls him close, trying to not think about the lack of clothing on his slender body.

**Floor Seven Hundred and Ninety-Two**

A farmhand looks at them, or at least Dean. He doesn’t look right in the coveralls, he knows he doesn’t. They should have tried harder to find the duct, but there’d been no sign, and Dean had hoped they’d be able to sneak through without being noticed. His hope was in vain. He tightens his grip on Phil’s hand, and pulls him along faster. He hopes that they’re make it up the last eight flights without any other mishaps. They’re so close now. This is almost over, and he won’t let them fall at the last hurdle.

**Floor Seven Hundred and Ninety-Nine**

“Last floor.” Phil says suddenly, and stops walking, causing Dean to feel a tug on his hand.

“C’mon, we’re nearly there.” Dean pulls on his hand a little and shakes his head when Phil plants his feet.

“I wanna say something first.” He grins at Dean, and takes a step closer. He presses a very timid kiss to Dean’s lips, and then quickly looks away. “I’ve never kissed someone I wanted to before… I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Dean catches his cheek and turns him to face Dean. “I don’t mind at all.” Dean leans forward a little, and catches Phil’s lips in a gentle kiss. He breaks it reluctantly, and pushes open the door to floor eight hundred.

**Floor Eight Hundred**

Phil seems to be in fine spirits as they approach the last elevator. He glances back at Dean as he rests his hand on the key pad.

“C’mon, hurry up!” He ushers Dean over, but the smile on his face suddenly falls away. There’s a sound, a loud sound, and the next thing Dean’s aware of is falling to floor. Phil’s standing in front of him, his arms spread wide, and opposite him is Vince McMahon the Chief Executive, a gun with a coil of smoke drifting from it in his hand pointing at Phil’s chest.

“You’re not going anywhere, Four-three-four.” Vince says sharply, and Phil straightens his back, his stance becoming more defiant. “There’s nowhere for you out there. These fools have been lying to you. There’s no Independence, there’s no understanding your illness, there’s no cure. They want to hurt you as much and more than you were ever hurt with me.”

“Stay away from me.” Phil says softly, taking a half-step back. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

“I’ll finish the job on your little friend, if you do.” Vince laughs, his gun trained on Dean. Dean forces himself up into a sitting position, and pulls his gun out, aiming it at Vince. “Really, Ambrose? You’re going to threaten me?” Vince laughs, but before he can pull the trigger on his gun, his hand ages. The skin becomes greyer and greyer, the fingers too weak to hold the weapon, so it falls to the floor. Vince lets out a scream, and scrabbles for the gun with his other hand, but it too ages rapidly.

“I could kill you. I _should_ kill you.” Phil sneers at Vince, but turns his back on him. “I won’t have the strength to fix this if I kill him.” Phil mutters softly, and the wound on Dean’s hip starts healing rapidly. Once it’s repaired, Phil smiles vaguely and falls face first to the floor. Dean gets to his feet easily, and stalks over to the whimpering Vince. The Chief Executive stares at him wide glassy eyes.

“He might not be able to kill you, but I sure as hell can.” Dean smirks, and pulls the trigger. Maybe Shane will take over as Chief, then problems in The Tower might get better. If nothing else, Shane can’t be as bad as his father was. “C’mon, Phil Let’s get you in this elevator.” Dean scoops up Phil’s unconscious form, and carries him over to the elevator. He slides the key into the slot, and the door whooshes open. He props Phil against the wall, and presses the button marked Roof.

**The Roof**

There’s a single flight of stairs more. Phil had woken up halfway through the longest elevator journey Dean’s ever taken. He’d asked what had happened to Vince, and whilst Dean had wanted to lie and say nothing, he couldn’t keep the truth from Phil. He’d told him that Vince was dead. Phil had nodded once, and said nothing more than good.

Dean pushes the last door open, and is startled. He’d expected The Tower to be standing tall in the sky, but instead they’ve emerged from a small building, only one storey high. In front of him is a spread of greenery. He’s heard of grass and trees before, he’s even seen pictures, but he’s never seen them. He, like every resident of The Tower was told that the outside world was uninhabitable, and that they were better off staying in The Tower. Phil shuffles up beside him, and looks pleasantly surprised by the view.

“It’s prettier than I remember.” He says quietly, and Dean catches hold of his hand, squeezing it lightly, then pressing a kiss to the back of Phil’s hand.

“It’s prettier than I ever even knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No requester this time, other than myself.
> 
> Festive cheer and imaginary apples to those who have taken the time to review. It's deeply appreciated.  
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review!


	26. Track Listing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little collection of fics inspired by Christmas Carols. Various pairings and warnings - Full track listing in Chapter 26, complete with all warnings.

**Advent Calendar 2016 Track Listing** ️

️All tracks marked _Ye Olde Times_ are in the same universe.

All tracks marked _Fantasy AU_ are in the same universe.

List of far:

Track 1 - **First Noel** \- Wade and Sheamus celebrate their first Christmas, together,whilst there's some new arrivals at the Manor. _Warnings: Slash (Sharrett), Fluff, Ye Olde times._

Track 2 - **Wonderful Christmas Time** \- Finn's been working as an ESL teacher for a few months, and learns about a Japanese Christmas tradition _Warnings - Slash (Shinsuke Nakamura/Finn Bálor) (Sheamus/CM Punk), fluff, KFC._

Track 3 - **All I Want For Christmas Is You** \- Master Shane is home for Christmas, and as usual is bored of being trapped in the family manor. Thankfully, the newly arrived Pastor's assistant is more than willing to help with Shane's boredom. _Warnings: (Shane McMahon/Dean Ambrose), Ye Olde Times, fluff, smut._

Track 4 - **I'll be home for Christmas** \- Justin is back in South Africa, leaving Heath and their many kids wondering if he'll be home for Christmas. _Warning: Established Slash Relationship (Justin Gabriel/Heath Slater), Separation Angst, Children, Fluff._

Track 5 - **Baby, It's Cold Outside** \- Seth and Sasha try to help Noam with his crush, but the Scottish Supernova mostly has this. _Warning: Het (Nia Jax/Noam Dar), Fluff, Match-making._

Track 6 - **Silver Bells** \- Cass takes Enzo Christmas shopping. _Warning: Slash (Big Cass/Enzo Amore) (Karl Anderson/Luke Gallows, Fluff, Christmas Shopping._

Track 7 - **Auld Lang Syne** \- Dean has been betrayed once more, but this time it results in a reunion with someone he still loves despite their betrayal _Warning: Slash (Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins), AU, Smut._

Track 8 - **Carol of the Bell** s - Dean has lost everyone he loves, but a package arrives at his home with the promise of restoring what he's lost to him. _Warning: Slash (The Undertaker/Dean Ambrose), AU, Smut._

Track 9 - **Santa Baby** \- Dean's tired, but Santa wants to know what he wants for Christmas _. Warning: Slash (Chris Jericho/Dean Ambrose), Fluff._

Track 10 - **Let It** **Snow** \- Charlotte once more finds herself in the McMahon manor for Christmas, but for the first time she meets a fiery haired scullery maid. _Warning: Femslash (Charlotte Flair/Becky Lynch), Fluff, Ye Olde Times._

Track 11 - **Walking in a Winter Wonderland** \- A staff night out ends up with Punk being followed home by his lover, only for him to have to wait to give Sheamus his Christmas present _. Warning: Slash (Sheamus/CM Punk), AU, Fluff, Hangover Smut._

Track 12 - **Please Come Home for Christmas** \- Roman's reign as king is off to a shaky start, rumblings from the south of an old god walking the land once more, and news just as bad from the north regarding a wakening sorceress. _Warning: Het (Roman Reigns/Charlotte Flair) Fantasy AU._

Track 13 - **Deck The Halls** \- Whilst raiding a tomb, Dean meets a strange woman with a tempting offer. _Warning: Het (Dean Ambrose/Becky Lynch) Fantasy AU._

Track 14 - **A Christmas Duel** \- As the guardian of the Air Queen's tomb, Seth is failing at his one major task - making sure she stays asleep. _Warning: Het (Sasha Banks/Seth Rollins) Fantasy AU._

Track 15 - **Stop the Calvary** \- The Earth Queen is unlike her sisters. She hasn't been lying asleep in a tomb, rather she served as the Lady of the Forest, and Finn serves her. _Warning: Het (Finn Bálor/Bayley) Fantasy AU._

Track 16 - **Oh Holy Night** \- As a mercenary, Steve is used to taking odd jobs, but he's no idea just how odd this one is going to be _. Warning: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk) Fantasy AU._

Track 17 - **White Christmas** \- Working in the kitchens means that Enzo doesn't get much time to talk to girls, but there's one he really likes, and he wishes she liked him too. _Warnings: Het (Enzo Amore/Sasha Banks), Fluff, Ye Olde Times_

Track 18 - **Home for the Holidays** \- Steve's home alone on his birthday, and is a little miffed that at least one of his boys isn't home for it. _Warnings: Slash (CM Punk/Steve Austin), Fluff, Smut._

Track 19 - **O Christmas Tree** \- The Undertaker is very confused by an invitation. _Warnings: Slash (Goldust/The Undertaker), Fluff._

Track 20 - **I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas** \- Noam finds himself hanging out with the handsome young farmhand whilst stuck at the McMahon Manor. _Warnings: Slash (T.J. Perkins/Noam Dar), Fluff, Ye Olde Times._

Track 21 - **Jingle Bell Rock** \- The Smackdown Live Christmas party goes well, until it doesn't. _Warnings: Slash (Roman Reigns/Shane McMahon), Drunkness, Hangover._

Track 22 - **Silent Night** \- On Christmas Eve, Cass wakes up to unfamiliar silence. _Warnings: Slash (Big Cass/Enzo Amore), Illness, Fluff, Smut._

Track 23 - **Step into Christmas** \- Christmas traditions are something to be clung to for Luke and Karl. _Warnings: Slash (Luke Gallows/Karl Anderson), Drunkeness, Smut._

Track 24 - **Good King Wenceslas** \- Vince's gives his pet a gift, a gift his pet almost doesn't want. _Warnings: Slash (Vince McMahon/CM Punk), Ye Olde Times, Smut, Fluff._

Track 25 - **Christmas Steps** \- When Dean was reassigned to work as the Head of Security for the Facility, he had no idea it would lead to him leaving The Tower. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), Post-Apocalyptic AU, Fluff, Death._

**Author's Note:**

> First up we have First Noel, as requested by Moiself.
> 
> Please give the Christmas gift of a review! 
> 
> There's still some free slots in this calendar - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.


End file.
